It may not surprise you to hear that, in the wake of the release of the gigantic GQ feature on her today, John Edwards mistress and baby mama Rielle Hunter is experiencing some regret. Anyone in her position would. What in particular is bothering her, you ask? Is it that she feels bad drawing the spotlight back onto the whole sordid affair after it finally somewhat receded? Did she wish she hadn't said some of those crazypants things about the "magnetic force fields," or used the word "emasculation" over and over again? Or: Did the sight of herself on the cover of a magazine manage to actually finally penetrate the nimbus of craziness around her, and send her into a spiral of existential angst that concluded with the sudden and terrible realization, Wait, I am essentially a home-wrecking trollop. Why did I pose for a magazine? Why did they ask me to? What is wrong with the world? No, of course not.
Don't be absurd. What bothered her was the photos, of course. According to Barbara Walters, who said she got a call from Hunter today, who cried for two hours after she saw them and thought they were "repulsive." When Barbara asked the very reasonable question of "Why did you pose with no pants on, in a pile of stuffed animals, in a disheveled bed in a midriff-baring top, etc.," Hunter explained thusly:
"She said she trusted Mark Seliger, whom she said is a brilliant photographer and she went with the flow."
She didn't know her thighs were going to look like that. Jesus.