Fergie,
I want you to know, I’m in this for the long haul.
I entered my fandom innocently. But, who could ignore lines like and if you was suspicious, all that shit is fictitious?
Not I.
I jammed on out. I put them boys on rock, rock.
And when I got dumped, you were there with the follow-up, reminding me that even when they are “up in da gym just workin’ on their fitness,” big girls don’t sweat from their eye balls.
They just don’t.
So thanks for that too.
But I have to tell you, your most recent attempt forced me to do something I never thought possible during the Fergalicious days.
With your name featured prominently on my Sirius display panel, I reached on over and I pushed another button. Not with the haste I reserve for “If U Seek Amy” or anything Eminem, but I still did it.
I admit, I have dabbled around the female pop music scene in your absence.
I’ve screamed out the lyrics to songs that, unlike Fergalicious, I did not quite understand. Sometimes this even led me to unknowingly declare that I switched teams, and I liked it.
Let me introduce a crucial piece of evidence.
Exhibit A. “My, my, my, my poka faaaaace”
But despite my wanderings, and your recent musical/lyrical shortcomings, I am still a fan. You have just given me a taste of a sentiment I have felt before and will likely feel again.
Disappointment.
But at least now, when my straight-A high schooler gets tagged on Facebook doing a keg stand instead of “watching a movie,” I’ll be able to look her in the eyes and say, “I am disappointed, but we can move past this. It’s happened before.”
And so, I am willing to move past this in a Fergalicious, expeditious manner.
But please, hurry. I think Lady Gaga may run out of steam soon.
