DAHLINGS -
I never thought I would ever mention pop singer Justin Timberlake in my blog-thing...I mean, wasn't he married to Britney Spears or Pamela Anderson or Marilyn Manson? Or someone of that low-class ilk? That is the sort of music my personal assistant listens to.
When I am not around.
Be that as it may, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of attending a dinner party in East Hampton; to my horror, the after-dinner entertainment was to be Justin Timberlake's concert on HBO!
I would have stalked out, but my escort insisted on staying. He's quite aged, but tries desperately to stay "hip" (one of those bald-headed men with ponytails, don't you know).
Well, the music was repetitive, as least to my shell-pink ears. Mr. Timberlake is a slight, handsome, unintimidating person--he reminds me of a restaurant parking valet--who wears suits, or parts of suits, and he rarely stops moving during his show. There was a lot of platforms going up and down as well.
The reason I felt compelled to write was the dancers--! The female dancers were deliciously curvaceous, with real hips, thighs, bellies, all of the standard accoutrements of a normal female anywhere outside of a fashion magazine. Your faithful correspondent was astounded. Where were the stick-thin anorexics usually seen during such spectacles? When these women shimmied, they had something to shimmy with! And the costumes emphasized their fleshiness...underwire bras, garters, wonderful panties gathered across the hips! (There was one dancer with oddly striped blonde and brown hair, but a phenomenal blonde more than made up for that one strange lapse of taste.)
In short, the female dancers were as sexy as old-fashioned pin-ups, and at the same time, in tune with the new curviness about to be trotted out for Fashion Week. Or so one hopes.
And so I must tip my fedora to Mr. Timberlake for being in show business and still appreciating what real women look like!
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog
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