My world sank the other day when I found out latin love god Ricky Martin was not the man I thought he was.
My morning routine, which involves jumping out of bed- Byker Grove title sequence style- into my Bert and Ernie slippers, before preparing a sooper mocha frappuccino latte, is always much-enhanced by the hip gyrating rhythms of Livin' La Vida Loca or follow-up single She Bangs.
Now, frankly, it all just feels a bit, gay.
I'd always imagined The Martster and I schmoozin' the ladies of downtown Rio after ritually applying fake tan, waxing our chests and changing into a fresh pair of impractical, but hella revealin', leather trousers. What could be straighter?! I thought.
Perhaps I misinterpreted his lyrics.
'She'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain.' (she's against wasting water by showering)
'She will wear you out, she's livin la vida loca!' (she's into high intensity cardio and is actually clincally insane)
'I go crazy 'cause she/ Looks like a flower/ But she stings like a bee/ Like every girl in history' (maybe he just had one bad experience with a girl/bumble bee hybrid and assumes every girl is like that.)
I still got love for you Ricky (this isn't my Jan Moir moment), but it's time to align myself with a new heterosexual role model. I'm thinking Tom Cruise in Top Gun, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever or ladies man crooner Cliff Richard.
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