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On Friday we promised ourselves that we wouldn't write about Britney again until she won a Nobel Peace Prize, cured cancer, or got herself a decent therapist (and Dr. Phil doesn't count). But oh, Britney, how you tempt us: this past weekend she hit the town with her new boyfriend in her old (slutty) wedding dress. You've got to hand it to her--even at her darkest, lowest, seediest, most soap-operatic moment, the girl knows how to curate a photo op.

As two women schooled in the art of having our hearts put through the blender, we're guessing that this was meant to be a way to give the finger to K-Fed via the paparazzi--a not-particularly-subtle way of saying, "I've moved on." (Subtlety and Britney go together like the Huckabee platform and evolution, of course.)

Unfortunately, Britney's the only person in the country to see it this way. To the rest of us, it belong in the annals of celebrity meltdowns, somewhere between Mariah Carey stripping on TRL while telling Carson Daly, "I just want one day off when I can go swimming and eat ice cream and look at rainbows," and Anne Heche knocking on a stranger's door and asking to take a shower before announcing that she was God and was there to escort everyone to heaven in her spaceship.

But bless Britney, we've all been there: the pathetic and transparently needy attempt to hold your head high and prove you're so over that ex. So what's the lamest thing you've ever done in the name of proving you've found closure? Go on, do it for Britney. She needs you and your empathy right about now.