Mr. MILF sent the most beautiful bouquet! Per yesterday’s post about a New York Times Styles story on the Obama date night that’s pressuring American men into romancing their wives — my favorite being the man who sends his wife flowers every Tuesday — Mr. MILF messengered over a gorgeous bouquet of red everything that’s gonna make the upcoming Hump Day extra special. So, between date night and Ms. Michelle, could the Prez have the ladies’ vote any more locked up?

The annual advertising bonanza that is New York Magazine’s Best Doctors weirdness is back. And when I wasn’t marveling at some of the ugliest advertisements I’ve ever seen — the Personal Injury Litigators Conference 2009 took the prize for its unprecedented combination of ugly-sleazy and ugly-looking — I was riveted by the doctors’ confessionals detailing their first limb amputation, heart transplant, etc., as well as by which of my doctors made the (dubious) grade. First the good news: The dermatologist who I hate who topped the list for years has been eliminated, while the incredible Yuman Fong, who performed the revolutionary Whipple procedure on my father, is in. The maternal and fetal medicine inductee who does a very nice job on my ultrasounds — and is likely one of the very few gay gynecologists in existence — is suspected by my fabulous OBGYN, who is never on the list, of milking expectant parents’ fears by ordering up nonessential ultrasounds. He also happens to be on the board of my building, and is reputedly a staunch opponent of every child-friendly measure proposed. But I am reserving my main grievance for the pair of pediatricians whose well-regarded practice I am leaving because every office visit makes me cry or want to throttle someone for the obnoxiousness endured. It just goes to show that the best recommendations come not from peers — who don’t even use a doctor’s services (that’s how New York’s survey is conducted) — but from trusted friends who have actually experienced a doctor’s diagnoses, in addition to her bedside manner and even her office staff. One more thought for next year’s round-up: Wouldn’t it be interesting to know how many of our city’s “best doctors” take insurance?

When even Karl Lagerfeld makes a completely unsubtle market-whore move that proves the opposite of prescient, you know you’re living in roller-coaster times. For Chanel’s latest Paris-Russia collection ad campaign, the Kaiser dressed up the Moscow-born goddess Sasha Pivovarova in a bounty of hyper-explicit Czarist booty. No doubt, when the shoot was planned last fall, Lagerfeld, like everybody else, was counting on the oligarchs to remain conspicuous-consumption maniacs. Alas, even those gilt-laden lads and their mistresses have cut back and the privately held Chanel was forced to lay off 200 staffers earlier this year.

Yoganomics — now there’s something New York Times parenting columnist Lisa Belkin could have really sunk her teeth into. Alas, all we got were bitemarks by Emily Bazelon in The New York Times Magazine this week. Writing about the perilous fate of urban freelancers during the downturn, Bazelon focuses on a single mom named Lisa Feuer who became a yoga instructor after divorcing her husband and losing her job doing publicity for his record label. While Bazelon glosses over Feuer’s childcare issues and how they prevent her from supplementing her meager income by, say, bartending, one can just imagine how, in the hands of Lisa Belkin, this would have been a heartbreaking story about the perilous fate of middle-class single moms who equally desire an honest living and time with their children, and how being an employee usually prevents that kind of best-of-both-worlds, nice-life scenario. What’s more, women require safer working conditions than men, limiting their choices as well as their compensation — because even the rich people on whom these female independent contractors typically depend are savvy enough to cut private yoga instruction immediately in a recession. As everybody knows, though, there is no safety net for trust-fund-free single moms. But the services they provide — yoga, massage, family photography — are often the things that, however trivial and indulgent they may appear to be, promote health and happiness. Don’t these women deserve the same?

Straight from the school of Zoolander fashion photography! Ginnifer Goodwin with gigolos in W!

Despite the forced image subversion — the story is titled, “Goodwin Goes Bad” — ooh — let’s acknowledge the really serious reality check of the shoot. With relief from the cliche of girl love in favor of boy love — replete with jealousy, S&M and plywood — we’re getting something just a tad more reflective of the real, ah, cliches of fashion world, don’t you think?