Keynote Speech #2

It doesn't matter, Tweet, Steph, all my other dearies, what nationality your man carries. This advice applies to all: It pays to know your guy's dirty secrets. Go ahead, dig and prod, unearth all those nasty things that he's got buried. It will be useful one day. Trust me.

Case in point: Many weeks ago, I was hooked. I'd hear the opening words coming from the television, perpetually tuned to a music video channel, that insouciant voice declaring, "I know you like me, it's easy to see," and instantly I'd start wiggling my ass and jiggling my boobies, dancing in front of the mirror, making like a Pussycat Doll. I even clicked on to their official site, found out that the lead singer is part Filipina. I knew it! There was something familiar in that long black-haired sexiness. I felt a connection. I thought they were, as the Fil-Ams used to say, da bomb. Dontcha?

Well, my husband, the dear, serious-minded European, answered plainly, "I don't." The Pussycat Dolls were shallow, he declared, the lyrics to the song downright stupid. Les idiotes, he said they were.

That instantly stopped me shaking my bootie. I looked at him, then back at my reflection in the mirror. I frowned, and then smiled. I remembered. Grabbing a hairbrush, I made that my mic. Opening my mouth, I started to belt.

"And I-iay-iay will always love you-ooh-ooh-oohhhh..." I went at it long enough and loud enough that if we were living in a tenement in Manila and I had the help of a karaoke machine, a beer-drunk neighbor would have dropped his forkful of sisig to come and shoot me dead in the head.

That instantly stopped Pierre badmouthing the hotties. You see, one of his deepest, darkest secrets is this: He was once an avid fan of Whitney Houston, and up to today he considers The Bodyguard one of his favorite films ever. Ha!