naked: an open letter to beth ditto, who should come to my house and be my best friend please

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Dear Beth Ditto:

Last week, Mo Pie linked to your performance at the Brit Awards. Do you know, when I opened the link to your incredible red dress on the red carpet, I gasped? You were there, looking so radiant, bare shouldered, miniskirted, in giant gold heels, and you were working it, and so sexy. You always work it, so I don’t know why I was so astonished. But there was something about that picture that I can’t stop thinking about.

Something about that confidence you’ve got, the way you work your curves, is an epiphany. The way people can call you a “real woman” in that veiled-insult backhanded compliment kind of way that seems to imply that there are “real women” and then there are “fantasy women who people want to have sex with” and we’re all supposed to know which one we want to be, but you say oh hell no–an epiphany.
Everything about you is gorgeously, exultantly, exuberantly screw that, and you know you want to screw me. In that red dress, you are a sex goddess.

Ms. Ditto, I think you are my hero. Ms. Ditto, I
don’t know
you very well, but I think you’d be spectacular in bed. You wouldn’t
give a damn about the properly sexy angles, or your ass looking okay,
or if you’re
sweating too much or if you just made a funny noise or if you’re doing
right. You embrace your body and you are gorgeous. You embrace your
body, and
you are a firecracker in bed. You embrace your body, and you are just
You embrace your body, Ms. Ditto, and everyone at every size should
want to be
you, when they grow up.

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