Partly Cloudy, 64°
Ellie Johnson, mother of four and loving wife, was confused Thursday evening when out of the blue she had the anachronistic urge to get down with her bad self. “I felt this urge coming on,” related Johnson. “I just had to move my booty.”
Johnson’s afflictions plagued her all day. “I was roasting a ham for Christmas. Father was in the den reading his newspaper and the kids were playing outside. And all I could think about was spreading the love and burning my bra along with the roast in the oven,” said Johnson. Once the roast was finished, Johnson urged her family to “dig in” as she quickly suppressed a deep voice within her urging her to get jiggy with it as well as down and dirty.
Under the pretense of feeling tired, Johnson retired to the bedroom where she tried to take a nap to clear her head. When sleeping failed, she poured herself a stiff drink from her husband’s mini-bar, determined to get white girl wasted.
Feeling a little better, Johnson put her children to bed and settled in for the night with her husband. When Mr. Johnson related that he had a long day and wanted to turn in for the night, Mrs. Johnson could only utter a muffled, “Goodnight, dear,” though her hips were yearning to pop, lock, and—time permitting—drop it. And despite her confusion, Mrs. Johnson had a feeling that her hips were not lying to her.
Before going to sleep, the voices still raged in Johnson’s head. “I had no idea where I could locate my tailfeather,” noted Johnson. “But I knew I had to shake it.” As she drifted off into her dreams, Johnson gave into the fact that she knew she was sexy, but did not know why she would wake up the next morning feeling like P. Diddy.
