Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I used to work for an entertainment company on weekends, dancing at parties in Beverly Hills. In addition to performing choreographed numbers, our main duty was to ask guests of the party to dance with us, to get them up on the dance floor and help get the party going. Easy-cheesy work, good pay, and usually we were served the same food as the guests.
"Bloussant your shirt," Chris told me one night as we were backstage getting dressed for the conga number. Chris was our choreographer, director, and stage manager for these party gigs.
"What?" I asked him. I had my shiny, yellow conga shirt rammed ruler-straight down the front of my pants.
"Bloussant your shirt," he repeated.
"What?" I asked again.
"Pull your f#@*ing shirt out a little!"
Oh. That I understood.
I think about that moment and laugh every time I see the commercial for the breast enlargement product with the same name.