A brief announcement about my spawn. (Also: Britney Spears)

brit

I should have known that I was pregnant because, about 12 weeks ago, I became deeply moved by the Britney Spears video for Make Me.  I’d heard about La Brit’s new album, Glory (on NPR of all places), and felt curious as to why the auto-tuned warbling coming through my speakers was making me feel so warm and nostalgic.

I quickly looked up the video for Make Me and slowly crumbled into tears.  My God! I thought.  This poor woman!  She’s taken so many knocks that she just can’t trust guys any more!

This rather hysterical (heart wrenching!) observation seems borne out by the action of the Make Me video in which a strangely distant Brit holds a casting call for what is either a music video or a one night stand.  She struts past a bunch of hunks loitering outside a sound stage (giving them an endearing “in your dreams, buddy!” glare) and then stands with a bunch of her girlfriends on a studio floor while one hunk after another tries to act sexy for her.  Finally, she picks the most harmless seeming one and has some very tender, soft-focus, mostly clothed sex with him–while her girlfriends watch on a monitor (comically freaking when the signal goes out).

When I heard the song at the gym the following evening I wept like my favorite cat had just died.

I have a soft spot for Ms. Spears.  She’s actually quite funny and self aware.  Maybe that’s why Make Me made my cry (I mean, other than the fact that there is clearly a baby in my tummy).  Britney has always been the vamp of the pop world.  She drips sex for a living, but you get the feeling she just wants to dance and shop and eat ice cream like everyone else.  The oddly business-like atmosphere of Make Me is depressing because, even when Brit nails her burlesque dance moves, she’s just going through the motions.  Expertly and flawlessly–she’s the best at being Britney Spears–but when she’s done she’s clearly going to go home and forget about the fantasies she embodies living.

This clear distinction between work and the actual woman, leaves one a little melancholy.  Compare Baby, One More Time Britney to Make Me Britney and you’ll see she’s become both more technically accomplished and more reserved.  No more care free sex kitten here.  She’s been tempered in the merciless glare of the public.  Oh, she’ll give you what you want, but she’s not giving you her soul–and I’m happy that she won’t and sad that she has to think that way.  In a recent interview she said her goal in life is to be a good mom.  This is awesome–I hope to do be the same!–but, Jesus!  When did Britney grow up?  I miss her in her fuzzy pig-tails and sexy gym clothes, pining for some loser on the high school quad.  She was having a ton of fun back then.  Now, like the rest of us, she just has to work, bitch.

Anyway, I’m pregnant.  12 weeks out.  We’ll find out the sex sometime in November.  Other than dissolving over Britney videos, I have experienced very few side affects.

Now, please send all chocolate and potential one-nights stand candidates to the address I’m imagining in my head.

 

About hsmartin

I'm a writer in Northern California.
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