I have a sad, sad addiction to reality television. I’d like to think that I have standards, but when the award-winning “Amazing Race,” “American Idol” and “Project Runway” aren’t on, I still find myself tuning in at the end of the day when my mommy-fried brain has read the first paragraph of Fareed Zakaria’s latest Newsweek column five times (and each time it seems new).
And so I find myself watching “America’s Got Talent.” This week featured a Shakira impersonator…wait for it…named Louigi. Yes, this self-called Boy Shakira shook his booty, flipped his blond wig and jiggled his tatas in true Shakira style (thankfully there was no singing to this impersonation). Strangely, I found myself entertained because he actually had Shakira’s moves down pat (hey, the hips don’t lie). The judges must have just had their happy pills because they passed him on to the next round. But even more amazingly was Boy Shakira’s mama backstage telling Jerry Springer that her son was most certainly the best Shakira he could be.
I thought that mama really loves her son. I mean, what mama gazes into her infant’s face and sees that down the road? But I realized that he seemed to be happy doing it, and isn’t that all we really want for our kids? I started to wonder what might become of my peanut and came up with a few potential professions based on what I know of him so far:
* Lion Tamer – Since learning to crawl, peanut could spend hours chasing our poor cat around the house. Strangely, the cat sometimes seems to enjoy this and I can’t help but think that she has fallen under the spell of our little guy.
* Professional mover – When not chasing the cat, peanut could spend the remainder of his day simply moving piles from one location to another — these books? So not in the right place, they’d look much better one foot over. These stuffed animals? They definitely need to be behind me (oh, wait, I turned around? I better move them again so they are behind me…). This laundry? Clean or dirty, doesn’t matter. It will all look better in a big pile over here.
Of course his skills at moving items and pulling anything and everything from shelves, drawers, hampers also qualifies him to be a professional ransacker or TSA agent (I should get him those little fliers they leave in your suitcase notifying you that your bag was searched that he could leave on his piles).
* Elvis impersonator – oh yeah, he’s got that lip curl down!
* Dentist – he has a fascination with looking inside hubby’s mouth.
* Orchestra conductor/baseball player/drummer/sorcerer/golfer — anything that requires the waving around of a stick-like apparatus.
* Guacamole maker — loves squishing up some avocado when he’s eating it. There’s nothing cuter than a green guac-goatee!
So we’ll see. The possibilities are endless. And I know I’ll love him no matter what the future brings (but luckily Boy Shakira is already taken!).