Dear Britney,

Actually, Dear Britney's Muffin Top,

I love you. I love that you wrap your loving arms around Britney Spears' midsection. Sure, I tuned in to watch Britney's Doc. For the Record, but you were the real star. My favorite moment of the night was the first few moments of the pre-show countdown, when they chronicled all of your most memorable career moments. Britney waltzed out on stage wearing her trademark lowcut jeans and minuscule halter top. Muffin top, I saw you then and I had such hope. The jeans were cutting a little tightly and I thought, surely she's not going to sit down in that outfit. And then sit down she did. And out you popped in your glorious fold-over-the-jeans type of way.

Muffin top, I had my suspicions. I genuinely thought they wouldn't let Britney bring you to her CD debut, but you snuck in under their radar despite all her exercising. Sure, you were not so prominent when Britney was standing, but sit the wench down and you spilled out, squeezed mercilessly between her disgusting black halter and skanky jeans. I couldn't take my eyes off you. It was like you were there just for me.

You see, Britney and I go way back. We're nearly the same age (happy 27th birthday, Brit!) and I've followed your career as though it were my secret alternate slutty life. You are the Hannah Montana to my Miley Cyrus, minus the softcore pornography (on my part). Brit-Brit and I were married around the same time, but I think she may have gotten the shorter end of the stick on that one. We both have two kids very close in age. We both have stupid tattoos. Once upon a time we had similar bodies, though I gyrated slightly less and covered myself only slightly more.

Us, circa 2000. Before digital cameras were invented, thus no pictures of me. Too Bad, So Sad.


And then things went sour for Britney. We went in two extremes -- I became righteous and got normal looking hair, and she went crazy and got gross extensions then shaved her head and then got more gross extensions, and now has circus freak hair.



Us now-ish, post birthing two babies each. XOXO, backfat.

Watching Britney's body get fat then slightly thinner, then druggy chubby, then pregnant again, then lumpy, then kinda in shape was the main reason I tuned in. I could identify and it was gratifying watching Britney expand and contract. Before the Documentary, I thought Brit was headed back to teeny-bopper LA thin, but then my fears were assuaged when she showed up with your little friend. Paired with a wider girth all around, I think the Muffin Top is a nice accessory.





Sure, she looks trim. But she's doubled in width! And I dare her to sit down in that getup!

Yes, Britney Spears, you and I are the proud owners of a little Muffin Top. Even you, with your trainers and nutritionists and nannies can't stop the "wrong side of 25" spread. Girl, you wide. Gone are the prominent hip bones. Hasta la vista, stomach definition.

And Muffin Top, I do believe you're here to stay. And unlike Britney, I wear my MT with pride, because I have a wonderful husband and cute babies, but you? You're still gyrating like you're 18. Good luck with that, trainwreck.

With love and the grateful passage of jealousy,

Nortorious