Just a couple of very blonde, very tall, pregnant ladies.

Here we are at week two of Project Runway, hatchlings, and it’s getting easier to discern what the judges are looking for this season. To whit: sloppy construction will beat a freaky concept, so take your conceptual ideas elsewhere, designers.

But I get ahead of myself. You see, I’ve been sick in bed for two days with something much akin to morning sickness. Except it isn’t. So Mom, if you’re reading this, I’m not pregnant! Rebecca Romijn, however, was when this episode was filmed, and with twins, to boot. So the challenge was to make a design for her to prance around in. Let’s start the show!

I have to say, why did it take Project Runway so long to use maternity wear as a challenge? Scads of celebrities are preggers, and one need look only as far as hostess Heidi, who is perennially knocked up. However, the little pregnancy pads the designers had to strap to their models? All I could think of was Roger Sterling’s line from this week’s Mad Men when he looked at Betty Draper. “Oh look, Princess Grace swallowed a basketball.” Because that’s what all the super slim walkers looked like they had in their “designs” as they sashayed down the runway.  Giant basketballs.

When the workroom was shown from a wide angle, there were two camps: the forgiving jersey-ville playground, and the well-constructed junction. Not that there wasn’t a little outpost called Malvin-ville. Malvin, oh Malvin.

Malvin Vien, celebrator of a woman's fertility. And lover of a good KFC meal. He's a thigh man, in case you were wondering.

You see, our little conceptual dumpling decided he wanted to represent the fertility of a woman. Now, that’s a great idea, Malvin. If you were going to do something whickety-whack along the lines of a fertility goddess, it might even have been understandable.

But he went in another direction. The chicken and egg argument. Ah, eternal dilemna! Which came first? Malvin chose to swaddle his pad/fetus/basketball in a deliberate egg shape, then put feathers around the neckline (black feathers, to boot) and made jodhpurs in the shape of … chicken thighs. Because nothing says “Pregnant lady walking!” like a pair of chicken thighs.

I feel like chicken tonight. Or a good hard-boiled egg.

Last week’s bottom dweller Mitchell went for sloppy construction yet again with a pair of poorly executed shorts that had a badly attached pregnancy panel in the front. Frankly, I think it was the ruching around the waist that did this design in — it only adds weight, and why use it if you have the panel? Add a blah T-shirt and sweater and it’s naptime.

Who wears short shorts? This poor thing, strutting down I-can't-bend-over-Blvd.

Ra’Mon, who asked Gordana if a woman was in her second “trimester” or “semester” (and he went to med school — please) put out a plum and purple color-blocked mess that looked like Ralph Kramden’s bowling bag. Moving on.

The ladies were the top three this week, and represented nicely. Althea Harper, one of the gaggle of blondes, lacked a little in the boob area (frankly, I think all the designers could have given a little room to breathe up top), but her criss-crossed long navy dress had a lovely flowiness.

The best of the bunch were two burgundy numbers. Louise Brooks’ (oops, I mean Brown’s) baby doll satin date night wonder had tiers and hand-dyed lace to give it a punch. The judges, including Monique Lhuillier, subbing for missing Orangina Michael Kors, felt it was too nightgowney, but it was hard to deny the fine workmanship that went into the dress.

Talk about a satin doll — the tiers will help this hot number avoid wrinkling.

The winner was perky Shirin Askari, who said “thank you!” about 10 times too many, but her cranberry jersey dress with the cowl neck and empire waist gathers was a stunner of simplicity. Add to that her coat, which hung just right, and she pulled out a deserved win. My only caveat: Although the lining of the coat was pretty, I could tell she had no time for interfacing, as it was it a bit floppy. But I’m nitpicking.

Smile, honey! You swallowed a basketball, and your designer's dress won!

So, tiny egghead Malvin was kicked to the curb, and I have to say, I wish he’d stayed. Because even though his design was laughable in concept, Mitchell has shown sloppy ineptitude two weeks running, and in my book, that just isn’t right.

Next week looks like team time, and my beloved Grandpa Fashion Epperson will stop throwing “He said what?!” looks at the young pups and actually tangle with someone. Poor man even begs for a Tylenol. Which I’ve been doing for the past 48 hours.

I can’t wait!