Can You Hear What I Hear?

“You showed restraint and control tonight.” 

— Christina Aguilera, praising a contestant on The Voice.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she stands in front of her wardrobe before a night out on the town and weighs her options. One of the things she takes into consideration is her weight. She looks down and sees a chest full of silicone and wobbly thighs. She takes into account that she used to be, like her height, petite. Not no more. She has overcompensated for all of this with a weave that reaches clear down to her waist. OK then, she’ll go with the ridiculous 5-inch heels; that should help.

Then she blows it all by picking a pair of black leather hot pants (of course!) and a leopardprint bustier (the obvious choice!).

After she’s somehow defied the laws of nature by packing all that flesh into those miniscule garments and ignored the fact that shorts as short as panties make her thighs appear twice as wide, she applies her make-up. Showgirl caliber lashes and brilliant red lipstick! Yes!

She raises her arm above her head and points to the ceiling as if giving props to God for inventing foundation. Her armpit is several shades lighter than the rest of her, because the spray tan didn’t get all up in there. Instead of seeing a hot mess even a Vegas hooker would balk at, she purrs at herself in the mirror and heads on out the door.

 And here’s another thing: it’s one thing to pull off the Cirque de Soleil bedazzled swimsuit when making an OTT video for “Lady Marmalade” years ago when one was thin. Now, one just looks like a desperate person with no-one to gently sit one down and say “No.”

The best thing about The Voice is not the contestants, all of whom sang with mediocre skill last night. It is the guys who bring the talent from the coach's seats. They are the champions, my friend.