The actresses who play the women of Wisteria Lane suffer from one of two disorders: TMI-tis or NEI-tis.

TMI-tis sufferers are giving us Too Much Information, whether it’s Eva Longoria discussing her sex life with Tony Parker or Nicollette Sheridan gushing over Michael Bolton (second time’s the charm!).

At the other end of the spectrum, Marcia Cross, who’s playing it very close to the vest about her engagement to some guy whose name I’ve forgotten, is an NEI-tis gal: Not Enough Information. So is Felicity Huffman, despite a report today about a recent roast where a pal said Mrs. Macy is easily embarrassed by sexual topics. Really? This is the same woman who earned an Oscar nod for playing a transsexual and whose TV character likes sending her husband pornographic IMs?

Then there’s Teri Hatcher, who seems to have a bit of both ailments. On the one hand, she’s courageous for speaking out about her childhood sexual abuse. On the other hand, do we really need to hear — in yesterday’s visit to Oprah, in her new memoir, in USA Today — that she’s, um, desperate to have ”crazy, wild sex” with somebody? And then again, she’s awfully vague on what went on between her and Ryan Seacrest, with whom she did not have crazy, wild sex. (It looks like he dumped her after they were photographed smooching during a date in March because he didn’t want to date the paparazzi as well.)

Maybe it’s not Hatcher who has the ailment; maybe its the rest of us, torn between our own prurient celebrity voyeurism and our squeamishness at what we find out when they let us peep.

addCredit(“Teri Hatcher: Reuters”)

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