I’ve read the articles and listened to the reports on “Inside Edition” – I knew that more than 50 precent of marriages end in divorce, but when I read a headline recently on the cover of Us Weekly, I was rendered speechless.
“Britney Storms Out” was splashed across the glossy cover. Inside, several pages detailed the ending of one of the most beautiful matrimonial bonds in human history: that of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline.
Although I was at the checkout counter with my groceries, I couldn’t bring myself to proceed. I grabbed the magazine and ran to the produce aisle where I collapsed in tears behind the bin of ripe, red tomatoes.
I cried for everything lost and everything that would never be. I cried for K-Fed who will inevitably apply for welfare. I cried for Britney, who was denied a photo spread with newborn Jayden James in Vogue.
Grabbing a bushel of grapes (my comfort food), I reflected on the events that have transpired.
I remember when Britney and I met. She slinked down the hall with her hair pulled tight into handlebar pigtails. Her Catholic school uniform was hiked well past her knees in defiance of the nuns.
I was there to support her mistakes when she oops … did it again and when she took her prerogative and French kissed Madonna on national television. I was a slave for her despite going barefoot in public bathrooms, chain smoking Marlboro Reds, refusing to bear it all in Playboy and running herself wild, and looking pretty straight into a modern day tragedy.
I didn’t approve of Kevin. I found him smarmy, unintelligent and one or two paychecks away from government support. He was the kind that one would find on those Maury Povich episodes titled, “Who’s My Baby’s Daddy?”
But did I say anything? No. Like any good fan and friend I kept my mouth shut and supported her, and when she proclaimed that it was true love, I concurred, and over time, regarded their union as a modern storybook romance.
I remember the fantasy wedding, where to illustrate their irrefutable love, Britney and Kevin wore matching “Mrs. Federline” and “The Pimp” tracksuits and served their guests chicken fingers and cheeseburgers.
In just a few short weeks, “Britney and Kevin: Chaotic,” the reality show detailing the relationship, became the new example of romance, replacing the likes of “Love Story”, “The Way We Were,” “Romeo and Juliet,” and yes, even “The Notebook.”
After only a few months of marriage, Britney announced that she was pregnant with her first child. Nine months later she gave birth to a son, Sean Preston. While many condemned Brit and K-Fed for being bad parents, I admired that they disregarded the parenting books and did it their way. Britney wanted to be close to Sean Preston and drove down Santa Monica Blvd. with him in her lap, and Kevin kept Sean in his heart as he partied with strippers, prostitutes and crackheads in Las Vegas.
In September, the couple gave birth to their second son, Jayden James, and everyone assumed that the love train would keep on keeping on.
Tragically, the train derailed on Nov. 7 when Britney went to a Los Angeles courthouse to file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. It was that day that caused me to collapse on Sav-A-Center’s floor and question everything that I had held true.
William Shakespeare wrote of tragedies, and many consider those tragedies to be some of
the most important contributions to literature. But one must wonder if Willie’s works can be the pinnacle of tragic prose without his comprehension of this recent tragedy, the worst of all – a Trailer Park Tragedy.
Left in the wake are shattered careers, two children and several empty bottles of Skol. But I’m convinced Britney will prevail, taking Kevin for everything he has – a home beer kit and 20 or 30 over-sized white tees.
She will love again.
After several hours, I picked myself up off of the linoleum floor and proceeded to buy the gallon of milk that I had intended to buy. After all, there was still some hope for love: Flavor Flav and Deelishis are going strong. Aren’t they?
