Sometimes, when I’m bored and feeling particularly catty, I poke around YouTube and watch wannabe artists hawk their often dubious talents for all that they’re worth. These desperate cries for attention never fail to amuse me. The singers are my favorite. Bad covers of Taylor Swift songs are always good for a laugh, and more often than not, the comments are priceless.

Every so often, though, I find myself thinking back to 12, 13 years ago. Back then, my sister, cousins (they’re aunts, actually, but we were in the same age group, so we decided we’re better off cousins), and I were demented enough to think that we did the best Spice Girls covers in this ‘ere parts. We dressed like them, cut our hair like them, and generally acted like them (I was Posh Spice, tee hee). We got the songs (complete with harmonizing, mind you) and the dance routines down pat. Why, we even performed – in church youth activities, mostly, but once in a luxury yacht in front of actual paying customers. Truly, it was horrid. But back then, we felt like the height of cool.

I thank the heavens that we did not have video cameras then, or else we probably would’ve filled many an external hard drive with those ghastly performances. And I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that YouTube did NOT exist back then.

The idea of seeing myself on YouTube doing the Posh Spice wink-and-point thing really is enough to make my sphincter tingle.

(And no, I am NOT going to post gruesome pictures of such a dreadful time in my life.)