Who could forget that noble blacktress who brought us two tremendous firsts to that wondrous art of television : a.) the first African American woman to star in her own series in
Julia in 1968 and b.) the first fierce African American bitch to throw shade and extra dry martinis in Dynasty in 1984? Who could forget her and those impossibly high cheekbones from which the world, and at one point Sidney Poitier, hung. Sorely, many have, that is, until now. Luckily, bitch is on the comeback trail as evinced by her feature in Vogue's annual age issue. 73 and still turning it out. Look at that perfectly manicured, Oscar-nominated, Tony-winning claw. Hey, Lady. You, Lady. It was either you, Cissy Tyson or Ms. Ross back in the 70s. Good company, but alas, it was not meant to be for any of you classy broads. That's the world we live in, but guess who's got the last laugh now, Di? I think that balloon sleeve on your Teri Jon by Rick Freeman taffeta shirt says it all. And that face. That face that has launched a thousand miscarriages. Tighter than that tiny bow-cinched waist. I know that I, for one, wait with baited breath for the release of your memoir, The Legs are the Last to Go: Aging, Acting, Marrying & Other Things I Learned the Hard Way in September, if only for this little quote, courtesy of Vogue:
"Behind the wheel of this lurid yellow car was this tiny black woman with a huge head of hair flying in the wind. As she drove past me, I recognized it was Diana Ross.
"'There goes the neighborhood,' I muttered to myself."
And here comes a bestseller. I only hope that one day Ms. Carroll can feebly slap me across the face with an autographed copy. That moment would go right up there with getting groped by Paul Newman and fleeced by Carol Channing.