Don't you just hate it when Jude Law breaks into your house? This morning, I woke up, and there he was in my kitchen, wearing an open bathrobe and boxer shorts, stirring eggs in a frying pan with a spatula. He wasn't cooking them; the stove wasn't on, and the eggs were still in their shells. He was just pushing them about. Then he saw me, yanked an egg out of the pan, and ran out the door, complaining of a burnt hand. Damn it, Jude Law.