I tried and failed to make my pudgy child body move with the sexy staccato confidence of Britney. I traded my allowance for the thick plastic of a CD case and played her tinny voice in my blue walkman from the backseat of my parent’s car. baby, one more time at Best Buy in San Antonio, Texas over two decades ago. When I say that I am an American woman, I mean that I love and have loved Britney Spears. Britney Spears: patron saint of fluffy blondes, red latex, vocals twinged with a robotic gravel, perfume that smells like a cupcake bloomed out of a flowering jasmine, iced Starbucks, tramp stamps, snakes, the state of Louisiana, swiveling hips and belly button jewelry so sparkly that it must be a princess cut.
