Still dragging after travels last weekend and a long week. I've started 3 posts and they just don't have the spunk and panache to appeal to me enough to post. Reaching back into distant history for some self-deprecating humor and a few snorts. JB, the check is in the mail...
In the early 2000s, gay activism groups were all over
fund-raisers that were in fact, fun.
Drag shows, karaoke contests, dances with drag queen guests were all the
rage. Our local AIDS Foundation hosted a
monthly event called Gay Bingo, complete with an Amazonian drag queen
host(ess), cross-dressing nuns as bingo verifiers, and full on show tunes
themes for each occasion from Pajama Party to Wizard of Oz night. It was a highly entertaining evening with a
few games of Bingo thrown in for good measure.
My group of stay-at-home mom pals decided it would be a good
evening excursion to attend and escape for an evening to blow off steam after
wrangling our respective yard apes and ankle biters all day. We were regularly getting to the point when
one more episode of Barney or reading one more Dr. Seuss book could send us
over the edge.
We piled into a minivan for the drive to Seattle, paid our
admission fees and found a table to inhabit.
The costumes surrounding us ranged from the simple to the eccentric and
elaborate. We attended on Wizard of Oz night and found everything from Dorothy
and Totos to witches and Flying Monkeys.
There had been a recent addition of bar drinks and appetizers with
decidedly festive and flamboyant names – and well blended.
The games began and periodically lithe young men would rip
off their shirts to hoots and hollers as prompted by the crowd or host. At one point, after 2-3 of these little
flamboyant drinks, I thought it would be fun to do as well and whipped off my
shirt in one swift motion. Ever have
that feeling RIGHT after doing something bold that says… how long do I have to
commit to this? Yea. At the point I realized I was wearing my most
dilapidated MOM bra, while twirling my shirt above my head, there was no going
back… Then someone at my table whipped
out her cell phone and got a photo. Oh
hell no. Captured for posterity. But that wasn’t the worst part. Apparently, in the middle of my wallowing in
regret the “gay bingo security” asked my friends to keep me fully clothed for
the rest of the night. The effect of
“Put those away lady, no one wants to see that.”
Being of the blessed with buxom bosoms club is not without
its perks and proclivities. A good rack
gets you efficient customer service at Home Depot, but really cuts into an
effective golf swing and prevents more than a casual jog. But that is a whole 'nother story...
We continued our games of bingo after I was suitably
dressed. But we always have a lull in
the conversation breaker when someone says, “Remember when we almost got kicked
out of gay bingo. That was a fun
night.” When your days are filled with
play doh, cleaning up after toddlers and LEGOs scattered from one end of the
house to the other like a tropical fire pit when barefoot, it doesn’t take much
to cause excitement.
Real hopeful that the mom in question has since upgraded her phone a generation or two and that said photo has gone the way of floppy discs and Polly Pocket dolls in our lives... but stranger things have happened.
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