A few years ago, the world was captivated by one woman’s struggles with herself and humanity. As a nation, we watched as she fell, struggled to get up again, fell again, and just kept falling. We gasped in horror at her misfortune. We watched with bated breath to see, would she triumph? Public places fluttered with whispered conversations wondering- what would happen next? Would she survive? Would we? Could we??
Obviously, I’m talking about Britney Spears. The original Honey Boo Boo. When pictures emerged of her shiny shaved head, my heart broke- where was the girl I loved? When she stumbled through an awards show, looking like a baby horse who has just learned to walk and then was given muscle relaxers, I grieved. Rumors have flown around about drugs, brainwashing, and mental illness. I don’t know what the truth is, but what I do know is I felt great sadness that it appeared she had ruined her life.
But no more. I do not feel sorry for Ms. Spears at all. My sympathy has dried up, for as of yesterday, Britney Spears has ruined my life. For real, y’all- I never ever ever ever ever exaggerate. Ever.
These last two weeks have been extremely stressful. Kids have been sick, I’ve been behind in many projects, and I have a school situation looming over me that is causing me to not sleep well. I’ve felt on edge and tense all week. As a person who loves music, I decided yesterday morning to turn on some
music I listened to last week music from my youth to lift my spirits and have a little fun. I turned on a Britney playlist, and started dancing while cleaning up breakfast. Malachi was playing and ignoring me, because he’s quite used to these impromptu dance parties. I was singing along to “Hit me Baby, One more Time” when the kitchen table decided to take me seriously. I did this half spin half leap while doing the “Single Ladies” hand motion and tripped over my feet and slammed my head into the table. But hey guys, I am an artist and I take my kitchen dancing craft very seriously, so I shook it off and continued. I’m sure the ringing in my ears will eventually go away.
That afternoon, I was again starting to feel a little overwhelmed and tense, so I turned on the music again because I had faith in you Britney and started to dance. A few songs went by, some of her newer things, her “hair extension phase”, I call it. And then- a song from her prime, one her best came on. Y’all, this was my jam.
“All you people look at me like I’m a little girl, well did you ever think it would be okay for me to step into this world…I’m a SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE for you….”
I’m walking around, you know, dropping it like it was hot. I dance into the playroom, which is right off the livingroom where Malachi is. I’m putting things away when I spy something I need- a large stuffed snake. Oh come on now, how am I NOT supposed to carry that thing around my neck, a la Britney at the 2001 MTV Video Music Awards where she carried that huge yellow snake around her neck and managed to not look terrified? And since I don’t own a flesh-colored sparkly bodysuit (I know. But there are just some things you have to give up when you are a mom), this stuffed snake would have to do. So I draped the snake around my neck and begin the belly dancing portion of the song.
Then I hear “Oh. Oh. Um, hello ma’am. Well. Ok.”
Oh PLEASE let that be Malachi and his voice has changed…
Nope. Malachi has let in a meat salesman. And Mr. Meat Salesman was staring at me as I slowly lower my hands from their belly dancing position to rest upon the stuffed snack wrapped around my neck. Hello, welcome to my totally not weird home.
He apologized for coming into the house, and I told him we were not interested in buying any meat and we did all these things without making any eye contact. The snake dropped to the floor and even though it is made of cloth, it seemed to echo through the silence of the house. He awkwardly bent down and picked it up and said “Um, here’s your….um, your snake?” as though unsure it was actually a snake. I resisted the urge to tell him it wasn’t a snake, it was some sort of spy device and I was undercover for the CIA as a sub par bellydancer and that he should forget he ever met me. Sweet fancy Moses, please forget you met me…
So between humiliation and a head injury, I’m breaking up with Britney because this is of course her fault and not mine. That might not make sense but let’s all remember that I probably have a concussion.
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