I have a lot of love saved up for Whitney Houston, whose entire first and second albums I used to love belting out in my room when I was, like, eight -- despite the fact that there's no way I should've been singing about spending all night shagging my married lover, and how it was emotionally hard when he was with his family but all worth it when he dropped by my place again for Naughty Time. I even had the piano music for that one; my parents must have been relieved I never whipped either of those performances out in public.
Naturally, then, her descent into becoming the scary-bony woman who told Diane Sawyer she made way too much money to bother doing crack and demanded to see receipts proving allegations she spent $500,000 on cocaine -- because drug dealers are renowned for making sure you have receipts for each purchase -- considerably saddened me. Thrillingly, though, Whitney looks like she's getting back on track.
Pretty! Classy! No bones poking out through her skin! And she's totally fixed up the hair!
My one beef: I am pretty sure those are panty-hose (which I totally wrote as "hos" by accident the first time and had to fix; perhaps this is my subconscious' way of telling me that, deep down, I believe nude panty-hose are the trashy cousins of a good pair of tights). And I hate that with open-toed shoes, especially ones with bling attached that draw your eye right down to the feet, making sure you notice the telltale webbing on her toes.
But other than that, well done, Whitney. One step at a time, right? We have time to deal with this whole panty-hose problem -- something that, not too long ago, I might not've been able to write without secretly worrying Bobby Brown would be the death of you before we got there. But now we've got you looking radiant again, so let's call this one a victory. Dare I suggest she's rekindled the greatest love of all? Oh, I dare, I DARE.
