A Hunk, A Hunk of Burning Love

My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey -la, hey-la my boyfriend's back).

I don't care who you are. He's a dream boat. (Well, unless you are sister Yvette...she thinks he could use a serious update on his 'do. But she's wrong...I mean, just look at him.)

Still, there are others who are stuck on their own handsome, more dead heartthrobs, like Elvis...in this case, "others" being my mother. I do believe she's saving up to take my sisters and I to Elvis Week in Memphis in August. Well, I says, I can't wait to celebrate The King in the sweltering August heat. That will be so fun and unusual and confusing all in one. I think that week marks the anniversary of his death. I remember being there in Memphis just days after he died. No, actually, I don't, because I was IN THE WOMB while my mom stood in the miles-long line in front of Graceland. Yes, my mother flew to Memphis while she was with child to see The King lying cold in his coffin. Surprisingly, other members of my family put her to shame in the area of Elvis-worship. My aunt has an Elvis refrigerator magnet complete with several pieces of his wardrobe. And I did catch my grandma swaying back and forth in front of the TV while she watched an Elvis impersonator performing...something. I mean, I can't remember, because I was quite fixated on the image - this middle-aged woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, tugging on the genuine Elvis scarf she had wrapped around her neck. Apparently, he had tossed this to her during a concert. Come to think of it, my mom has her beat in that department. Elvis actually kissed her cheek during a concert. I have to wonder if she felt guilty for accepting his affection after she had, years before, stolen his personal belongings (including a cigar and newspaper) from his limousine.

Anyway, I can't wait for Elvis Week. I wish they had Rick Perry Week. Heck, I'd take a week off for that.