The P is for Pajamas.

On the day of my birth, when Jesus first breathed life into my portly, baby brown body, the sky became a rumble, and a voice spoke unto me. “My son,” echoed the voice, “I present to you these four gifts. One, a creative mind, in which to bestow upon the Earth the joy of good song. Two, a strong heritage. With this, you shall forever be proud and fear no obstacle that lay before you…also, when necessary, you can use it to exploit white guilt. Gifts three and four, you shall let no man tear asunder…and these gifts are, Tootie…and Rudy.”

Welp, as much as I appreciate the presents, my man…its time to do some asunder tearing. I mean, dang Jesus…you cant just be like, “here’s Tootie and here’s Rudy” and not expect me to like one over the other. But the problem is, I dont know which one I should like more.  Im continuously being pulled apart, in both directions by the wild horses of my loins. One day its Tootie, and the next, Rudy. My tender loins cant take it anymore. (Ha! See what I did there?)

I mean, on one hand, there’s Dorothy “Tootie” Ramsey…a young girl who was initially recognized for loving Mrs. Butterworth syrup, and later, rollerskated her way into the Eastland dormitory  of my heart. It was impossible to not be drawn by her…an older woman with both the beauty of  a thousand Aphrodite’s, and the education of mutant Frederick Douglass. Plus, she had an ethereal smile that was accented by metal work only the orthodontists of the heavens could be responsible for. Son, freak what you heard, thats just good ol’ American sexy!

But then, a mere television sitcom series later, came Rudy Huxtable. Gasp! Love once-a-more. This time, with a woman who shared the same  aristocratic outlook on life. We were seven. By this time, Tootie had gotten a drivers license and I felt it best to go our separate ways. Allow her the chance to work in Mrs Garrets shop and prepare for college. But Rudy, Rudy was right there for me. And when I watched her perform Ray Charles’ Night & Day, I knew it would last forever…or at least until the end of the episode.

Anyway, all that illustrious poetry aside….look at these girls now, son. GOT DANG! Keep your Beyonce’s and [insert foreign supermodel name here]…this is what Im trying to get pregnant.

So, while I continue to waver in my adoration…you tell me….Tootie, or Rudy? Who wins?

(When judging, its important to note that Tootie is 10 years older. Thus making her 10 years behind. Niggas didnt have hi-def digital cameras and all that sh*t  yet…so you’ll have to excuse the fact her photo was taken by Olan Mills at a random mall kiosk.)

*both pictures depict the women at age 30.

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