Columnist confesses: "My Vice is Spice"
by Jennifer White

I gave out the coolest Christmas cards this year. On the front of each card was a glossy group picture of the Spice Girls, wearing their trademark skimpy clothes and flashing peace signs. Inside, "Have a Spice Christmas!" was printed in pretty pastel colors amid fluffy snowflakes.

I couldn’t think of a more appropriate way to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus.

But the cards are a mere sample of my eternal devotion to all things Spice. I saw the Spice Girls movie. I have Spice Girls CDs, Spice Girls magazines, Spice Girls books, Spice Girls videos, Spice Girls chocolate bars, Spice Girls potato chips, and I even have the official Spice Girls deodorant spray.

I got some of that Spice paraphernalia for my birthday and, no, I didn’t just turn twelve. Actually, I’m only slightly younger than Baby Spice. I guess that kind of explains my obsession. You see, I want to be a Spice Girl.

I see absolutely nothing wrong with making heaps of money by dressing up, singing crappy songs to star-struck pre-teens and then pimping yourself to whomever will fork over millions for the privilege of placing your image on some food wrapper. As a matter of fact, this is my prime goal in life. I will settle for nothing less than complete Spiciness.

I figure that I have a pretty good shot at making my dreams a reality. I can’t sing, but that’s obviously not a Spice requirement. However, I do look pretty rad in short skirts and nosebleed platform shoes. I can also be hyper and ultra-annoying with no difficulty whatsoever. Plus, I have Girl Power out the ass.

I know for sure that I have what it takes to join up with Sporty Spice, Scary Spice, Ginger Spice, Baby Spice and Posh Spice. The only thing I’m lacking is a cute nickname. But what kind of spice am I? Cheesy Spice? Dorky Spice? Pathetic-21-Year-Old-Spice-Girls-Fan-Who-Really-Needs-to-Get-a-Life-Spice? That one seems to work, but would it fit on the front of a deodorant can?