Don’t call my name, Alejandro, even though I’m wearing dead cow. I’ll be crying later when this little number starts to stink up my limo.
Last weekend at soccer we were sitting at a picnic table with some of Miss C’s teammates, waiting for team photos to be taken. One of the moms had the latest People magazine. Her son, who is 5 or 6ish, sat down beside her and started flipping through the magazine. “You have GOT to see Lady Gaga in her MEAT DRESS!” he said excitedly, planting his index finger squarely on a full color photo of Lady Gaga wearing what looked to be giant slabs of bacon.
My girls love Lady Gaga’s music. Miss A has actually choreographed a dance number to Telephone that is pretty darn impressive. They practically climbed over me and over the table to see Lady Gaga wearing her raw meat gown at the recent VMAs. Talk about making a fashion statement.
A couple of days later I was driving us home when we heard a radio commercial for the upcoming Lady Gaga concert in downtown Nashville. (Confession to hubby: Yes we were listening to that top 40 radio station that you hate.)
Miss C chimed in from the back seat, “I am NOT going to see Lady Gaga. I will listen to her music, but I do not want to see her. She is too weird.”
p.s. So I’ll admit I would actually go see Lady Gaga in concert, but only if I won the tickets or, you know, someone gave them to me.