Madonna's bedtime story

Watchword

Heads turned wherever Madonna went, even when she had her clothes on. She could pack any stadium and was called 'the queen of pop'

(AAP, September 26: Madonna's literary debut The English Roses has become the fastest-selling children's picture book of all time.)

Once upon a time, children, back in the boring old days before cone bras were invented, when the thong bikini was but a figment of fevered imaginations, and the many uses of silicon were completely unknown, there lived a pretty little thing in middle America who had a big name "" Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone.

She was a smart girl, who knew exactly what shade of lipstick to wear with each of her dresses. She had long silky hair she shampooed every day. And she carried herself like a queen.

But unfortunately, nobody took any notice of her beauty. No heads turned when she walked past on her high heels, swaying her hips like the fashion models on TV.

Nobody whispered, "This Madonna is just like a rose, an English rose", no one said "She shines like a star", not a soul was jealous of her. That's because the pretty young thing suffered from two terrible misfortunes. She was dark-haired, and she was poor.

The poor thing didn't own a single diamond, she had no personal trainer, no nannies, not even a bodyguard. Yes, children, she was just like Cinderella.

And Cinderella, we all know, had a fairy godmother. She came to Madonna one evening in an Issey Miyake cape, reeking of Chanel. "Oh my gawd," she said as she surveyed Madonna, "what a crappy dress, what awful taste, you look like a pathetic little cow. We'll need a wholesale makeover." That's how Madonna became blonde.

It wasn't long before people started noticing the change in Madonna. For starters, she took no time at all in dropping her last three names, becoming Madonna, period. Dropping her clothes took a while longer, but as she grew older she shed them with unfailing regularity and it wasn't long before her bras became outerwear.

Leather whips, garter belts and bustiers found their way into her wardrobe. She always used to sing, like all of you do in the shower, but now she started to sing while writhing on the floor or while running her hands over her backside, which, as all you children know, is a completely different ball game.

She stayed up late at night working on her vocabulary so that she could use all the words that grown-ups like to use, words like 's**t' and 'b*****d' or even 'f**k', words that she soon learnt to handle like a real pro.

Children, with all those talents Madonna didn't take long in impressing your Dad and Mum who flocked to every one of her concerts, all agog to see what the foul-mouthed star would do next.

Would she chain herself to the bed and crawl all over the floor? Would her boobies pop out of her dress? Would she hitch-hike in the nude with only a handbag and her cigarette as fashion accessories? And Madonna never failed to oblige. Her spectacular shows featured giant beds and mechanical bulls. Oh yes, she also sang.

Everybody now wanted to be Madonna's friend. Heads turned wherever she went, even when she had her clothes on. They called her the Queen of Pop. She could pack any stadium. She had millions of dollars in her bank accounts, five bodyguards, a trainer, a nanny and a chef.

And the more people wanted her, the more she sang: "They can beg and they can plead; But they can't see the light, that's right; Cause the boy with the cold hard cash,is always Mister Right". So what's new?

But Madonna had a secret sorrow. They compared her to Marilyn Monroe, those who were jealous called her a trashy American, those who liked her said she was decidedly French, but no one said she was a rose, and an English one at that.

"Write a book", advised her fairy godmother-cum-publicity agent. So she published a book of her photographs called, appropriately enough, Sex, with pictures of her lying topless on a sheepskin rug, smoking a cigarette. English rose? Ha ha.

So she tried again, writing a silly story for mentally challenged kids. But this time, she gave public readings from her book, looking fetching and doe-eyed in a floral print frock, with plain, sensible shoes, hair pulled back and an artfully made-up peaches and cream complexion.

She even took out her spectacles to read. Everybody gushed how attractive she looked, just like an English rose. And that, children, is how Madonna got what she wanted.

(I know that's a lousy ending. Never mind, her next book, due in November, is called 'Mr Peabody's apples'. Yes, yes, children, peas (nudge, wink), bodies (heh, heh) and apples (wink, nudge). Sounds infinitely more interesting.)

manas@business-standard.com