Burlesque

Burlesque - try it - the word rolls out like a long red carpet, rich and majestic.
A lovely sounding word I think that sounds much better than stripper. Much more mysterious.

The other night, when I didn’t go to see Atonement, we met in a bar called Toast near the arts centre where the film was being shown. In a corner of the room was a small built up stage covered in black cloth and strewn with fake red rose petals.

‘What the hell’s that for?’ I asked, innocent that I am.

‘It’s a Burlesque night,’ I was told.

Consulting with the others, we weren’t quite what burlesque involved but thought that it meant striptease, maybe the odd bawdy song.

After a few minutes someone came in wearing a bright red jacket, belted tight around her waist. Her hair (I think it was a her) was dyed blonde, in a ponytail, and from the rear view I could see shapely legs in black stockings with seams up the back, and six inch high heeled black shoes.

When she turned round – well, you could have swept the floor with her eyelashes. I was quite riveted. And then she disappeared. And shortly after that we had to go.

I told Himself about this and he smiled, his mind evidently on other things. ‘I’m sure it was a good night,’ he said. ‘Nothing like a bit of singing and dancing.’

I looked at him, amazed at what he’d just said. ‘I don’t think there’s much singing and dancing,’ I said, and stared at him.

He looked at me then and obviously clicked. ‘Oh - perhaps we ought to go and have a look,’ he said.

So that’s our entertainment for next week then.

And now for a quote that has absolutely nothing to do with the above but I’ve just been sent it. Goes along with what I was saying yesterday about friends.

Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all
right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a
faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with
the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans), novelist (1819-1880)