Part of the joy of what we do comes from dressing up in the sort of clothing that is inappropriate in just about any other external setting (what our showgirls do in the privacy of their own home is entirely up to them, natch!). This joy is a multi-layered experience.
First, there is the pleasure of acquiring the showgirl wardrobe - whether that's shopping with a mate; browsing the internet; or a few of us getting together for an afternoon of crafty invention - seeking out and/or creating these daft little fripperies of satin, sequins, feathers and sparkles is great fun.
Secondly, there's the getting ready for class. This is a joy shared as our partners are pressed into service as dressers and/or as transparency and "revealingness" checkers (their opinion in this latter regard is not always reliable). Hot Wednesday is now enshrined in a number of households as something to look forward to.
Thirdly, there's the joy of going to class, admiring fellow showgirls in their finery and being complimented in turn. There's also the bonus laugh gained from unexpected costume malfunctions and surprises - I count among those last night's repeated experience of being swatted in the gusset by the Sparkly Bra Pixie's plait.
Fourthly, there's the absolute bloomin' gorgeous sight of seeing a troupe of showgirls, in their individual but themed performance best, filling a stage with colour and sparkle. Can't beat it.
Fifthly, there's the clothes swap. That's when we get together to find new homes for mistake purchases, or simply to hand on once much-loved outfits in the interests of freeing up wardrobe space for new acquisitions (hurrah!). There's fizz. There's cake. There's serious browsing. What's not to like?
Then there's the joy of seeing fripperies that were once yours looking absolutely gorgeous on another showgirl at the next class.
And, finally, at the end of every clothes swap, there's the trip to the charity shop with the items that didn't go home with a new owner. I did this a couple of weeks ago and the two ladies to whom I handed our bag of colourful bits of nonsense were thrilled. "It's just some daft stuff that we wear for dancing" says I. "Yes, we can see that," says they, knowingly. "That lot'll be going in the window".
So you see, you think that we're just skipping about enjoying ourselves in class when, actually, we are engaged in responsible recycling and brightening up the lives of others and our local surroundings. It's an onerous job, but we're up to it.
Yours, polishing up the credit cards,
Burlicious x
Term ended with triumphant mastery of "Rock On", and only the odd splintered derriere to show for it. We showgirls are 'ard, tho', well 'ard - we take whatever that floor throws at us (sometimes, apparently, very uneven gravity) and we glide on gorgeously, with only the odd perfectly chosen swear word to hint at the flesh wounds that we collect in the name of our art.
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