Sure, Taylor; you’re smiling now. But if you break his heart…
Posting on Thanksgiving Day is very freeing, because many readers are either:
a) too busy cooking/eating/hiding from a mother-in-law who can never be pleased and when will she just die already;
b) drunk on whatever “Coping-With-Family” elixir was on sale at Liquor-Mart; or,
c) napping in preparation for mile-long line-ups to save $12.oo on clothing steamers which will later die slow lonely deaths in guest room closets.
With this freedom in mind, I’m taking the opportunity to talk about how Taylor Swift’s love choices affect me personally.
ME ME ME ME ME LET’S TALK ABOUT ME NOW.
According to the Internet and my 13 year-old’s Twitter stream, trouble is brewing for Harry Styles of One Direction fame. It seems Harry has bee seen in close proximity of Taylor Swift, and Internet? I AM NOT AT ALL PLEASED.
Last week the two singers met while appearing on The X Factor, where they were said to have “enjoyed spending time together.” Uh oh. If we apply the Hollywood translation of “enjoyed spending time together,” we know that this means the ink on their marriage license is as good as dry.
No, Harry; You don’t know YOU’RE beautiful…
Let not my flippant tone misguide you. This is not fun for me to talk about, for several reasons. I want not to like “One Direction.” I hate that they are a prefabricated boy band who refer to creator Simon Cowell as “Uncle Si.” I hate that their allure and charming ne’er-do-well good looks currently have my daughter avoiding homework in favor of reading their Twitter streams and memorizing all of their pet’s names.
But I just can’t help myself. When their songs come on the radio, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. I sing along. I KNOW ALL THE WORDS.
Can you detect that “I’m Breaking This Shit Up” gleam in her eye?
So what it boils down to is this: Taylor, if you Yoko Ono this for me and break up this band – if you ruin this boy with your magical musical bewitchin’ skills, leaving Harry a warbly mess – I will be quite displeased.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had something to talk to my daughter about that doesn’t revolve around whether or not she’s emptied that damn dishwasher, and I’m not ready to lose my Harry Styles hook.
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About Jeni Marinucci
