BEYONCÉ REPORT
Last month, I wrote a piece about my big example, idol, support and rock or whatever. Beyoncé. Tuesday I got to see her live. I went with my dearest friend Lies and her brother Ties (we’ve also been to Usher. Sigh.), and there we were, slightly excited, or, to be honest, extremely nervous, memorising B songs the entire week. I put on my Beyoncé jumper, extremely hot, but it was totally worth it and Lies wore a custom-made t-shirt. All of this in the hope of Queen B noticing us.
Firstly. We were so late. Like, really late. Don’t ask me why, doubting, nerves, rain, metro. Something like that. Somehow, I always manage to attract a fuss at concerts. I’m always, ALWAYS standing in front of someone (I’m quite tall). And, okay, admittedly, it’s not very nice for me to stand in front of someone else and by doing so blocking their view even though they’ve been waiting for four hours at least. Which my neighbour tried to express clearly. My ears still hurt because of her screaming. She got her way, went to stand before me, and the show began.
Beyoncé, you’re so good, beautiful, and you can dance like no one else. Your outfits were each smashing, littered in glitter, and incredibly sexy. The video images, your texts, your wisdoms hit me like nothing else. I’d so like to be you. Your red, sequined Tom Ford dress is to die for. And all those short shorts you wear, I’d be willing to do a billion squats to be able to pull that off.
But I’d really like to ring you up and ask you how you’re doing. I sang along so hysterically loud and I don’t think I’ve got a good voice, but I was under the impression that it, perhaps, wasn’t particularly your day? Would you agree? And your face looked tired, like you weren’t quite all there. You’re still stunning though, but I feel like you could use a mini holiday. And finally. And forgive me if I’m wrong because, again, you’re amazing, but are you perhaps expecting Blue Ivy no. two? Because I saw a slight bump?
Oh, I already feel sorry for thinking all of this. B, I’m your biggest fan. After all, girlfriends forgive each other’s off days.
