…if we could only get a panel of our lovely ladies of Dade County passed to give us witty bits of knowledge on today’s happenings, we’d likely have ourselves another round of:
Golden Girls: (D)orothy, (B)lanche, (R)ose, (S)ophia
Q: We are sure you’ve heard of the passing of the extraordinary Maya Angelou recently… any thoughts spring to mind?
B: Oh, my. Yes. What a tragedy. What a beautiful poet. What was that she said about the female?: “It’s in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I’m a woman. Phenomenally.” Ooo, that reminds me; I need to call Mel Bushman. He once thought I wrote that.
S: Yeah, how old was she again? Ohh… 86, eh? Not too shabby. Real well-lived broad, in my book!
D: You know… there’s little I can say that would do any justice to the etherial and magnanimous nature of a woman such as Maya Angelou. She will leave an imprint deeper and grander than many ever will, and will be sorely missed. I do believe she may have been thinking upon her own departure one day when penning the words: “The free bird thinks of another breeze /and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees / and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn /and he names the sky his own.” Rest in peace, free bird.
R: I’m sorry, I sadly didn’t know much about her. I’m sure she was a lovely lady, but, you see, back in Saint Olaf the only books we were allowed to read were on bull castration, making cheese and how to fashion a toy gun out of almost any root vegetable. Did she write on any of those things?
Q: A lot of people are talking about Rihanna’s almost-nude outfit at the CFDA awards the other night. Did you see it?
S: Please, what was there to see?! In my day, we called those people hookers. Or cross-dressers. I can’t always tell with these ‘celebrities’.
R: Remind me again? <looks at picture> Oh my. Oh, goodness. I don’t… I mean… my word. Well. She’s… she’s shiny?
B: I had an outfit like that once, but I was raised properly. I would never be caught dead in it in public. Well, except the one time we were playing sexy hide-and-seek and I accidentally got locked out of the Howard Johnson suite 305, you know, on the patio of the main parking lot.
D: Well that only begs one question… where does she keep her car keys?
Q: With summer coming up quickly, what are your plans for getting beach-weather ready again (*if any)?
D: I’ll be dieting and exercising as often as possible. That is, if the three cheesecakes in the freezer eat themselves. And if they miraculously stop playing marathons of Cagney and Lacey on weekends.
R: Oh I don’t wear a bathing suit at the beach; I cover up. We Scandinavians are meant to be pale. One summer, as a young girl, I got so sunburnt I had to sleep in the mud with the pigs for a week! They were kind enough to let me roam around the pen for a few days, that is, until the pinkness wore off. Then they were just confused.
B: NOT that I need much, I mean, I have the taught body of a twenty-year-old, the skin of a bronzing Goddess and the metabolism I had since my teenage cheerleading days. But, just in case, I’m throwing everything out in the kitchen with dairy in it. And carbs. And sugar. And… heh. Well, maybe I’ll just get a ‘touch’ more cardio in. I have had my eye on that swing for my bedroom.
S: Beach ready? Beach ready, you ask. I’ve gotta remember to wear a bra, otherwise I end up tucking my breasts into my skirt! Beach ready. I’ve already had one stroke… want me to get sun stroke now too? I tell ya.