Fleetwood Mac and LMFAO Had It Right

Wiser words were never spoken, Fickle Pickle

For a long time now, Bee has worn goggles when he minces onions.  It is, of course, a brilliant solution to that pesky problem of drops whilst you chop, but it’s hard to envision the Iron Chef in such a manly getup.

The goggles have oozed in to another area of his life, now: this morning, Bee donned them to shave with his electric razor.

“Really?” I asked.

“Uh, YEAH,” he responded (in such a way as to intimate that he was really saying, “Well, DUH”).  “I don’t like all those bits of flying stubble getting in my eyes.”

Then he removed his shirt (because who wants hair down their shirt?) and stepped out in the yard (because who wants to sweep hair from the floor?). 

I watched him go, this goggled vision of loveliness.  His farmer’s tan has now tattooed to his torso a permanent white t-shirt where no such shirt exists.  I am sad to report that he had eschewed his time-honored black-calf-socks-paired-with-knee-length-shorts-look for a sensible pair of pants.  Thrillingly, however, those pants were riding just low-enough in back to allow for a peek-a-boo glimpse of the ultra-fashionable thick elastic band holding up his athletic support.  He strode confidently out into the sun, razor in hand, safety devices firmly in place, and took care of his business.

As I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched this icon of manliness advance back towards me, I couldn’t help but hear LMFAO’s “I’m Sexy And I Know It” pound through my head.  So I thought it appropriate to run to the computer and bring the music video up on YouTube so Bee could enter the house with his theme song playing.  

Bee, having never really paid attention to the song before, just tried to push by me.  However, I blocked his path and commanded him to listen.

When I walk on by, girls be looking like damn he fly

I pimp to the beat, walking on the street in my new lafreak

At first Bee snorted and looked irritated, but the beat in that song is sort of hard to ignore.  It took less than 8 seconds for his head to start faintly bobbing along.  That’s when I knew I had him.

(Shouldn’t you be listening to the song now so you can more-properly visualize the scene?)

When I'm at the mall, security just can't fight them off

And when I'm at the beach, I'm in a Speedo trying to tan my cheeks

Now Bee started shaking his hips, which made me laugh, which made him ham it up even more.  He lowered his goggles back into place, puffed up his pale chest, and began gyrating around the kitchen.  When Bee dances, it is with such abandonment, such child-like un-selfconsciousness, and such joyful fun that it’s hilarious to watch.  Soon I was doubled over with laughter.

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body . . .

Ah... I work out

His audience’s delight only served to fuel his artistic fire, and he began an exaggerated strut betwixt the stove and refrigerator.  It was all well and good until he stubbed his toe in the middle of a pirouette and, with a silent cry, began hopping on one foot.  This, naturally, caused me to start screeching with laughter, tears streaming down my face as I leaned against the wall for support.

When I walk in the spot, this is what I see

Everybody stops and they staring at me

I got passion in my pants and I ain't afraid to show it . . .

I'm sexy and I know it

Recovering with masculine grace, Bee was now limping alluringly across the kitchen tiles, sexily whipping his hair around (a tremendous feat for someone with so little of it).  And when the song’s bridge came up, and he danced appropriately . . .

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah

. . . I pretty much lost it.

By the time the song was over, I was a mess.  My stomach hurt from laughing, and I had to mop off my face.  S.B., who had caught the last bit of the performance from the stairs (having been informed by Mr. C that “Dad is doing a sexy dance downstairs”), commented dryly that it was just what every teenaged-boy wanted to see first thing in the morning.  Bee simply readjusted his goggles, picked up the electric razor, and headed upstairs.

I hadn’t laughed so hard in so long; it was nearly exhausting.  “Sweetie,” I called up the stairs after him with a sigh, “you make lovin’ fun.”

How could you not love a man who makes you feel that way?