Okay, get out the Kleenex. Because whatever you may have done on Valentine's Day, I'm sure you had a peachier time than Ivana Belch.
Picture it. One of WeHo's snazziest boutiques. I.B. saunters in looking bloated, like she'd spent the morning crying into her feather bed alone instead of banging pillows against the walls in the throws of passion. A shame, yes, given that I.B. is certainly attached to a dude. But it gets worse.
"Suddenly, she burst out crying, sobbing really, and went into the dressing room," whispers my stunned shopping source. "It was so sad. You wanted to hug her."
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