From the ``as if more proof were needed that celebrities play by different rules than the rest of us'' department:

Catherine Zeta-Jones is nabbed on film smoking while she's eight months pregnant with her daughter, Carys, and instead of doing the decent thing and giving up her career and going into exile, or offering the baby for adoption, or confessing she's helplessly addicted to nicotine and lending her name to an anti-smoking campaign, she calls her lawyer.

That's right. At a time when drinking a cafe latte marks you as a bad expectant mother, Zeta-Jones commits an even bigger sin, and then threatens to sue Clear Channel Worldwide, the operator of the Web site where the picture appeared, for ``continued malicious conduct.''

It's as if the photo, not the tobacco, is the villain.

Am I wrong, or if anyone should be suing for ``continued malicious conduct,'' shouldn't it be Carys? Not only do her parents give her a name destined to be forever misspelled - and her dad is old enough to be her grandpa - but her mom is puffing away.

But maybe in Hollywood, low birth weight is desirable. Catherine, Carys is such a beautiful baby - and what a toothpick! That onesie is just falling off her.

The potential lawsuit would come hot on the heels of another suit, in which Z-J and husband Michael Douglas sued Hello! magazine for publishing guerrilla photos of the couple's wedding that showed the groom shoveling wedding cake down his bride's mouth.

Hey, here's a thought: If Z-J weren't spending all of her time involved in litigation or wolfing down cake, she wouldn't need to smoke to help reduce tension - or lose weight.

But maybe I'm just jealous. I've been pregnant twice over the past few years, and if there was one thing I feared more than bringing a new person into the world (do you know how expensive children's clothing has gotten?), it was getting caught doing something illicit.

OK, mama. Put your hands up against the wall and drop the tuna fish sandwich right now and no one gets hurt.

Although many people walking around today were born to mothers who smoked, drank alcohol and ate - it's almost too scary to write - deli meats, the pendulum has swung to the point where pregnant women are now afraid of California rolls.

I ate a few of those when I was pregnant, and even as I was dipping the cooked crab stick roll in the soy sauce, I was imagining myself on the witness stand.

``I'm sorry, Ms. Teitell,'' the district attorney would thunder, ``but ignorance of the Best Odds Diet from `What to Expect When You're Expecting' is no excuse.''

Meanwhile, as my phone was ringing off the hook with new moms ready to blast Zeta-Jones, my mind was already miles away. I was thinking about the private estate in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, where Z-J was caught smoking, and I started to wonder if she had a nanny with her to care for her toddler, Dylan, and if so, how lucky the rich are, and then I really got incensed.

If only there were someone I could sue.