Greatest Love of All
I’m not one to get all chocolatey about dead celebrities, but I vividly remember the summer of 1990, when I wore Grandma Sherry’s size 5 tap shoes and time-stepped endlessly to the vinyl version of “How Will I Know” on her tile kitchen floor for hours upon hours, while she cooked me bottomless pots of Kraft macaroni and cheese, until my pre-teen feet finally outgrew those black, leather, semi-heel taps.
Dead Whitney Houston = I should probably call my grandma. She called me when Etta James died, so I need to return the favor.
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