I have nothing articulate to say about this, but I CAN offer you a series of grunts, screams, open-mouth soundless sobbing, and wailing:
WHY. NO. NOOOOOOOOO. NO! NOT YOU TOO, JULIANA MARGULIES! NOOOOO. You, you! You, my precious Carol Hathaway, my beloved Alica Florrick, the hot-husband-haver, Clooney-friending, smart lady. YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME.
(Is this so we’ll stop talking about whatever the hell went down with you and Archie Panjabi? Because I will not negotiate with this kind of sartorial terrorism.)