My sister works in a bar in town and that bar has just undergone and extensive refurbishment and this afternoon is its relaunch party. The plan was to have six girls on podiums behind where the ribbon will be cut for the grand reopening…. each girl holding a big polystyrene letter, spelling out the bar’s name of OSCAR’S.
But disaster struck the day before the reopening… one of the girls had a fall and can’t take part in the relaunch party which meant my sister had to find a last minute replacement. She asked her ‘good looking’ girlfriends but they all declined. No one wants to be a podium girl in this day and age, me included! But my sister was beside herself with worry. They’d been planning the relaunch for weeks. They got the six big polystyrene letters cut and painted in pink and silver, the six podiums made, they decided on the outfits; an off the shoulder bo-ho top and tiny black shorts… and worked on a very simple routine that would last no more than a few minutes.
I could empathise with Janet’s plight. The routine wouldn’t work with only five girls and none of the guys who worked at the bar could step in because they’d be behind the bar ready and waiting to serve when the ribbon is cut. I don’t know how she talked me into it… in fact I do… she assured me that no one would recognise me as a male when she’s finished and looking at my reflection in the mirror, I think she’s right. “Are you sure you don’t want to try heels?” she asked as we admired our matching reflections.
“Nah it’s too risky… what if I twist my ankle like what’s her face did yesterday?”
“True.” Janet agreed. “Just try them though… just so I can see.”
“OK.” I sighed. I sat on her bed and pushed my toes into a pair of her black court shoes with a slender three inch heel. Janet suggested I be careful when I stand. “Don’t worry, I am being.” I said as I slowly stood. “These feel scary… I’ve always wondered how you can walk so confidently in them.” I said as I cautiously stepped to the mirror.
“Years of practise.” Janet replied. “What do you think?” she asked as I observed myself.
“Erm… I’m not sure.” I said. “They look the part… and my legs look even longer… but I’m not going to risk trying to walk in them.”
“You’ll only be on a podium doing this.” Janet said, demonstrating the very simple dance which is nothing more than wiggling the hips and knees on stationary feet and holding one of the six polystyrene letters above our heads.
“I know but it’s getting to the podium and getting on the podium that I’m worried about. You’ve already lost one girl due to an ankle injury… you’ll never find a replacement if I do the same.. so I’d best wear flats.”
“Yeah I guess you’re right.” my sister said. I kicked off the heels and dropped down to my actual height and slipped my feet into a pair of her flat-black ballet style shoes. “It’s a good job we’ve got the same size feet.”
“It is.” I nervously agreed. “But I am having second thoughts.” I grimaced at my reflection.
“Oh don’t get cold feet now Peter!” Janet whined. “You look perfect!” she insisted. “…and it’s fifty quid for a few minutes dancing about on a podium.”
“I know… it’s just… these hot pants… I feel too exposed!”
“We’re all wearing hot pants Peter… and my control knickers do flatten you out quite convincingly.”