The Sexiest Woman of the Year is NOT Me...

I think it's great that Halle Berry has been named Esquire's Sexiest Woman of the Year. I mean look, she's hot with make-up or without make-up:



She's 42 years old. She just had a baby for the love of Pete. I mean, GOOD FOR HER!

And although she was very gracious in her acceptance ("I don't know exactly what it means, but being 42 and having just had a baby, I think I'll take it.") I couldn't help but laugh and roll my eyes at her follow-up remark:

"I share this title with every woman, because every woman is a nominee for it at any moment."

Really? Really, Halle? Because I think not. I have a healthy self image but I will tell you this: I am most certainly NOT a nominee for sexiest woman of the year at "any moment." Ask the fiancee...I'm especially not nominee material at 7am, sporting morning breath and hair that won't stay down in the front giving me an accidental Ed Grimley kind of vibe.



And I'm most certainly not nominee material when I'm, say, suffering from raging PMS and have one foot in the ice cream aisle at Ralph's, the other on the one-way street to Bitch City. I am also not nominee material when I'm working out (red and sweating like a farm animal), sleeping (I'm a mouth breather...hot), eating (I can't eat without spilling on myself) or watching football (I yell at the TV and curse like a sailor).

So thanks but no thanks, Halle. I appreciate the kumbaya inclusiveness of your words, but let's get real. I'll just have to settle for Second Sexiest Woman of the Year. It's cool.