Every once in a while (okay, maybe a little more often than that) I find myself adopting a new guilty pleasure. For a while I watched Hannah Montana on a regular basis, then came my Espresso truffle phase where I down one at Starbucks almost everyday under the pretense that if I finished it in 2 minutes the calories didn’t count. And I never seemed to shake the Spice Girls; if “Wannabe” comes on, an air mic, head bangs and some karaoke rapping will follow.
But recently a new contender has quickly moved to the top of guilty pleasure list.
Move over Miley Cyrus – Justin Beiber is my new tweenstar obsession. And boy am I feelin’ guilty right about now.
The kid is 15, but he looks about 12 and half. He’s got no body hair, he will still be mistaken for a little girl over the phone, and I honestly doubt the boy has even had an erection. But that hasn’t stopped him from releasing a CD full of romantic love songs, as if he has had 15 agonizing years of offering girls rides on his tricycle only to have them run off and play with another kid in he sandbox.
As wrong as it is, I just can’t seem to resist his sweet raspy voice and catchy beats. When his songs come on the radio I have a moment of reason: “You will change the station now, there is no way that belting out ‘One Time’ is socially acceptable.” Then I tell reason to shut-it, turn the volume to max and belt that baby like there’s no tomorrow.
About a month ago I sat in shame as my middle school aged cousins gushed over Justin, giggling and singing his songs out loud, accompanied by a dance they had made up with their friends.
“You guys are crazy,” I said rolling my eyes.
Then I left the room, shoved ear buds into my ears and selected GUILTY on my iPod, bobbing my head and shaking my hips to all 5 of Justin’s songs.
So sad. So wrong (I mean, really – this has to be illegal). So embarrassing.
But I can’t help it. That boy just…gets it.