amy winehouse, we need to talk.
i’ve been quietly sitting on the sidelines watching you self destruct. yeah, yeah, i know you’re a *creative* genius, and people like you have to suffer for your art, because that’s how you infuse so much “meaning” into your work. so i was willing to overlook some stuff.
i let you into my life, i played your music in my house, and generally welcomed you into the family, and this is how your repay me?
look, amy, here’s the deal, i know you have single-handedly brought back big hair, which i can totally appreciate, growing up in the 80s and all. and i’ve been willing to excuse a lot of your shenanigans because well, you’re across the pond and there is zero chance of you popping over for margaritas with blake. and i’ve been slightly amused by your drunken antics, like biting a reporter, and beating up your husband. i even forgave you when i saw that gruesome picture of you kissing pete dougherty *shudder*, which looks not so much like kissing, as much as you trying to suck the last bit of coke out of his nose.
but this….this is too much.
when my recently promoted-to-middle-school daughter suddenly starts looking to you as a style icon, it’s time for you to go, go, go.