Take 7: The Case of The Dancer Blaming the Stage

Spring is here and the tide’s beginning to turn. I’m tired of it being colder than a witches tit in a brass bra, and as happy as a clam that the air tested positive for Spring. It’s better late than never. The groundhog predicted an early Spring, then turned tail to hide. Unless you are in the Southern Hemisphere, in which case, Old Man Winter is flying by the seat of his pants to bring you a snow job.

Spring Break rocked my socks off, but now it’s time to serve up a lollipop with another one of these little ditties.

All the world’s a stage and it was the same song and dance night after night while burning the midnight oil. I swallowed my pride and danced with the devil to get out from between a rock and a hard place. I had to make a fast buck to pay a king’s ransom for stirring up trouble by taking candy from a baby.

I pulled a fast one for the first song and I was off and running. I took my gloves off and lifted my game. I knew no one in here would know me from Adam, so I kept on my toes and bent down at the drop of my hat. I was going to fake it til I make it, and go with the flow, so the money would rain down like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

The second song was slower than a seven year itch. The men were all drunk as a skunk and on the edge of their seats. I had time to take a look around, and wondered if they each had a mouse in their pockets, or if they were just happy to see me, but I kept my eye on the ball and didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. I gave the shirt off my back, let the cat out of the bag, and aired my linen in public. I was a smooth operator and I’ll be damned if I didn’t  rock the cradle of the saint who sleeps.

The third song was faster than a speeding bullet and I danced like it was going out of style to knock it out of the park for the silly willies sitting close enough for jazz. It was a game of inches. By this time I was naked as a jaybird, and you can’t take knickers off a bare arse, so I shook it like a polaroid picture. When the time came to get off, the crowd was going gangbusters and I heard a whistle in the dark. I was getting the red carpet treatment.

That’s the way lady luck danced, and entertaining the gentleman in the club was easier than falling off a log. I have no bones about that because I was making cash hand over fist and had more money than I knew what to do with, but a fool and her money are soon parted because there’s no such thing as a free lunch and I was one sandwich short of a picnic, so I was back in the saddle again the very next night.

♦

Was that hot enough for you? I clearly have a few loose screws.

Other Cliché Stories:

• Take 1: Cliché Touché
• Take 2: The Show Must Go On
• Take 3: Third Time’s A Charm
• Take 4: Shoot The Breeze
• Take 5: Birds of a Feather
• Take 6: Hold Your Horses