Miley's booty ain't the first to shake...........

Reading all the uproar over Miley Cyrus' bottom made me laugh. Booties have been shakin' around as long as there's been booties to shake, much to the disapproval of non-shakin' women, much to the approval of bootie lovin' men. When my husband, Walker, and I, were in our early thirties, we were in an international friendship club. We would host a guest from another country and then we were supposed to go visit that guest at their home. The problem was that we never had the money to go visit our guests in their countries. And, we had Baby Laurel, less than a year old.

It was the summer of 1989 when Walker and I drove up to the Atlanta airport to pick up our guest from France. In those days you could still go far enough into the airport to watch the passengers walk out of the plane, down some steps and across the tarmac and on into the airport. All we knew was that we were to pick up “Michelle” a young French girl in her early twenties.

“She wrote that she would be holding up one of those little French flags on a stick!” I hollered over the noise of the people and the planes. I adjusted the sweaty, sticky bundle of baby that was sliding off my extended hip. Motherhood had left me feeling rather unattractive lately. I was always covered in some ooey-gooey glop of one sort or another. Now underneath that glop I was still a hottie, but the problem was I very seldom seemed to get enough baths to get off enough goo to expose the hottie level. Baby Laurel would not take a pacifier . She preferred to gnaw on my chin. Wise women told me she was just teething and not to worry about it. It was all very natural. But why does natural have to be so wet? I tried to break her from sucking on my chin because it sent torrents of warm baby slobber that smelled like her “natural” formula made from goat milk running down my hot neck. They don't tell you this before you get the baby...

So Laurel was just gnawing away on my chin and slobberizing my face and neck when I looked up and saw “Michelle” sashaying down the airplane steps. Oui. Oui. Oui. “Oh {bad word}!!!” I uttered under my breath. She looked like a runway model from Paris. Walker lit up like a Christmas tree. “There she is! Wow!!! She's a looker!!!” I gave him a look that wiped that smile off his face but fast. “Well, I mean...she's looking for us...” He started waving his arms around like a drowning man and yelling, “Michelle! Michelle!” Just at that moment Baby's diaper sprang a leak and I could feel something warm running down my leg... I was still using cloth diapers because I was trying to save the earth. At that moment I decided to start using Pampers.

Michelle came bouncing up all smiles and sweetness. Ooh la la... She hugged Walker and kissed him on each cheek. Then she blew kisses in my general direction. “Well, I'm Walker and this is my wife....”

“SUZAN. My name is SUZAN,” I reminded him.

So we trudged out to our little compact car and went through all the gyrations of getting the baby in the car seat and Michelle's enormous amount of luggage in the trunk. “I thought she was only staying two weeks,” I whispered to Walker. “Maybe she decided to stay all summer,” he said with a big grin. So, we all got in the car, Walker driving, Michelle in the front passenger seat and me crammed in the back with suitcases falling on Baby Goat's head while she screamed her lungs out.

We got on down the highway and Walker asked, “What's that smell?”

“Chanel No.5,” “Goats,” Michelle and I answered simultaneously.

I had to let my back window down to get the smell out. The hot wind blew my hair onto my face where it stuck to the drool. I was a sight. All the merry while Walker and Michelle chatted away. Oui. Oui. Oui. “We are going to take you to a pool party this afternoon,” he told her.

“Oh how lovely! I bought a new swim suit! It has a top!”

At that moment Walker let our car go over into the other lane. I guess I shouldn't have kicked the back of his seat so hard. Some guy laid on the horn and shot an impolite gesture at Walker as he sped around us. “My sentiments exactly, Mister!” I thought.

We made it back to Macon and Michelle was so lovely. She was absolutely so polite that I couldn't say a thing against her. How could I be jealous of this precious young girl? After all, she brought me French perfume and she brought Walker an expensive bottle of French wine. She brought a Madeline dolly for Baby Laurel. So, ooh la la, it was off to the pool party. All the young mothers gathered in the shallow end of the pool. We were all bouncing our wee ones up and down in the water while all the hubbies were grilling and drinking beer.

“We brought our new friendship club girl with us. She's a real sweet girl. I know y'all are going to like her!” I said with my back toward Michelle who was walking out of the pool house wearing a black, string bikini . “I don't think I like her at all!” one of my girlfriends said. I turned around to see Michelle surrounded by Walker and all the other fellas. The boys were all laughing and having a grand old time. “Run for cover girls!!!” All of the mothers jumped out of the pool and ran for the terry cloth!

That night back at our house Walker and I put Baby to bed and sat up visiting and drinking the French wine with Michelle. I had to count the dunk in the pool as a bath and doused myself with Chanel No.5. She really was an adorable girl. What was I worried about? I could still turn a head or two myself. When he came to bed Walker said, “Why did you put Michelle in the downstairs by the kitchen? That's not the pretty room.”

“Shut up Walker.” He shut up.

The next morning I hopped out of bed and ran to take a shower while everyone else was still asleep. Walker got Baby Laurel up and took her downstairs to play on the floor of the dining room. Then I came down to make coffee while Michelle got up and took a shower. What a sweet picture the three of us made. Young mother filling the baby's bottle... Young father sitting at the table reading the funny paper... Darling baby playing with blocks on the floor... Life was all that it should be. Then our darling house guest appeared wearing a T-shirt with no bra. She was drying her wet hair with a towel. Her shapely long tanned legs went down down down to her lovely little pink toenails that were polished to perfection. And then it happened. She bent over to pick Baby up from the floor and I heard Walker choking on his coffee. I turned to ask, “Are you okay?” just as I heard and saw Michelle bending over and picking up the “Beautiful Bébé!!!” and then I knew. I had no doubt. Michelle was from the place in France where the girls wear no underpants and the dance they do is the Hoochie Coochie Coo!”

Stay turned for part two. Ooh la la!!!!!!!