high cost of fame

For years, I've scoffed at celebrities who whine and pout about the paparazzi, crying foul even as they show off their hideous frocks (or thongs, in the case of Mrs. Federline). But with experience comes empathy. I can barely tread down a quiet city street without hearing the click-click-click, like a telltale heart beneath the sidewalk. Simply because I'm poised, charming, handsome, and sleek, must I be pursued endlessly? All the world is not a stage, snappers!