Sweet-peas,
I am faced with a family crisis. My daughter Casablanca's twin girls, Chandelier and Candelabra, are determined to audition for "American Idle".
Yes, I am their granny, and you'd think they'd have some of my gifts, but those two don't have enough talent to fill a flea's navel.
How do you tell your own flesh and blood that they suck? I'm not a mean person, but I don't want those two tone deaf, knocked kneed, pock marked, pigeon toed lovelies to suffer the humiliation of layin' an egg in front of billions of people.
It's just not like it was when I started out in Show Biz. In those days, if you could walk and fit into the costumes, you got the job. Today everyone is so versatile. I think it has something to do with global warming and the use of steroids.
Meanwhile, speaking of pigeon toes, my taskmaster, Kenny-the-hateful, did a doodle of the curator at the Whitney Museum, DONNA DE SALVO, and the late CHARLTON HESTON, ( who once placed his hand on my chest and whispered, " You'll have to remove this from my cold dead hands." And I replied..." works for me, Moses!")
Your favorite granny with the great gams, I remain,
Trixie
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