Dear Beyoncé,
Ma'am!
What can't you do?
You had me watching the Country Music Association Awards for two hours and 25 minutes last night? How? That is two hours and 24 minutes longer than I have ever watched the CMA Awards before in my life.
And don't get me wrong, ma'am. I like country music. I like it very much. I mean, "Nine to Five" is the greatest song ever written about the irresistible scourge of capitalism. And thanks to one of Dolly Parton's other great songs I have never liked a single person named Jolene.
(No offense, Jolenes of the world. But, really, she begged you. And you took him, just because you can. Rude!)
But Beyoncé, ma'am, I watched two hours and 25 minutes of the CMAs last night for you. Apparently I would do anything for you. If you built a spaceship like Elon Musk and told me to sell all my belongings and move to Mars, I'd pull out my copy of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and get to work.
Just call me Matt Damon in The Martian because I'll be growing potatoes in poo soil in no time.
All for you, Bey.
Is this what Scientology is like? Sign me up.
Anyway, like I said I like country music. And I like awards shows. But I've never watched the CMAs because I believe the winner in every category should be "Fancy" by Reba McEntire.
Every year.
But I watched last night. I didn't watch the Cubs win the World Series. I paused my Netflix binge of the series Black Mirror (side note: I'm beginning to suspect that this isn't just a show about Erykah Badu admiring her reflection. I feel misled.)
I watched two hours of awards all to get to a showstopping performance by you and the Dixie Chicks on what looked like the set of the "Lose Control" music video.
It's hard to pick my favorite part of your performance, ma'am.
Was it your glamorous translucent gown made from the exoskeleton of the galaxy's richest alien? Perhaps. That gown was everything and nothing at once. It was constructed from 8,000 very delicate butterfly cocoons.
I love that you hired Charlotte from Charlotte's Web to create her masterwork for you. Some gig!
If you look at the label of that dress, under "materials" it just says the words "100 percent whispers." And somehow you know that you should read the words in the voice of Björk.
But your dress wasn't the only thing I loved, ma'am.
I also loved how you created the world's most awkward revival. Just for fun.
YOU: I'm going to reenact that scene from The Color Purple where Shug runs through the fields and tells her father that sinners have souls too. Except Natalie Maines is going to be the preacher.
THE AUDIENCE: Whut tho?
MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY: Word.
Beyoncé, ma'am, people were shewk. And not just because you were blasting the equivalent of 145 tractor trailer headlights at them.
But did you care, ma'am? No you did not. You just kept on singing and occasionally tried to help some lost souls clap on two and four.
You know what else I loved, Bey? I loved your band. I loved the Mamas. I loved your all-lady band. And I loved special guest band Too Many Zooz, ma'am.
I especially loved their dancing sax player in a sleeveless suit jacket.
First of all, I didn't know that a suit jacket without sleeves was legal so I'm learning so much. Also, please tell him he was awesome last night at the CMAs and I also really enjoyed his performance as Karl, the henchman from Die Hard. So much range, ma'am.
But mostly, ma'am, I want to say congratulations for taking another step in your inevitable world domination plan. Killing it on the pop, hip-hop, and now country stages. What's next, Klezmer?
Please say it's Klezmer?
This is like that time that Pavarotti got sick and Aretha Franklin was like, "I have 20 minutes free. Want me to sing some opera or whatever?"
THEM: Oh. This is awkward. This is like a real opera.
ARETHA: Does it have words and music?
THEM: Yes.
ARETHA: Them I'm going to sing the hell out of it.
THEM: It's in a different language though.
ARETHA: Have you ever heard me perform "Dr. Feelgood" live? I can make a whole paragraph out a moan. Foreign languages are my bag. Speaking of my bag, I'm going to bring it with me. And my fur coat. And I'm going to need you to pay me in cash and have a car waiting. I like to get back to my hotel in time to watch Psych.
In conclusion, ma'am, you have once again snatched me bald. I am edgeless, in awe, and searching desperately for my cowboy boots.
Follow R. Eric Thomas on Twitter.
