MerrinDonahue.com

I have a shameful secret. I am addicted to In Touch magazine. I can’t help it. Every week, I hand over my copy to the pimply-faced teenager at the grocery store checkstand, like it’s an afterthought. The sad truth, however, is that I go out of my way to do my grocery shopping on the day the new issue is due out. I’ve even started shopping at a different grocery store, because they always have it a day sooner.
Sure, I could read People. Then, I wouldn’t have to be embarassed. I mean, everybody reads People, right? Even Us Weekly has a certain…..well, if not respectability factor, then at least it’s not shameful. Here’s my problem: I don’t care about the human interest stories that these loftier publications include. A dog found its way home after 3 years? Great. Good boy. I could care less. All I want is the grainy photo of Britney Spears’ cellulite taken by the telescopic lens of an enterprising member of the paparazzi. Is that too much to ask?
I’d rather buy condoms AND tampons from the kid at the supermarket than hand over my In Touch. I can’t even make eye contact. But I’ll keep going back, week after week, because I can’t not read about Demi and Ashton’s baby dilemma. Yeah, I could get a subscription, but then the postman would know. What if my neighbors saw? (Shut up, Josh and Camille). So I’ll endure the looks and snickers, the furtive glances of my fellow shoppers, and I’ll buy my In Touch at the store every week. A girl’s gotta have her vices. And I’m not the only one, either.