Sad Smut is a personal, arbitrary line. Britney is indeed coming close but it’s moves like these that prevent the pity, that block any sympathy she might have elicited. I would feel sorry for her if she was at home, alone, asking for help but not receiving assistance. I would feel sorry for her if she wasn’t scheming still, scheming for her place, scheming for glory, scheming for whatever it is that will make her whole.
Here is a woman who could lose her children, whose parents are siding with the ex, who was ordered by a judge on Monday to be drug tested twice a week. She is currently fighting to retain 50/50 custody of her boys.
So what does she do on a day when she can actually spend quality time with them?
She goes shopping! On Robertson! The postal code of the paparazzi!
Have a look for yourselves – the photo and then the video here. Are you telling me whatever she had to buy couldn’t wait until Sean Preston went back to daddy? There is no excuse whatsoever for this. None.
This was a blatant attempt to court public favour that has backfired spectacularly in her face. Intending to show that she is a responsible parent but too selfish to understand that a responsible parent might want to do something the child might enjoy, and not the other way around, Britney somehow thought it would reflect positively to subject her boo boo to the friendly glare of the tabloid lens.
To me this is not Sad Smut. To me this is simply Chicken Fried Stupid. It might not be to you, but it is for me. That’s my line for now.
Stupid but not Sad