A Holiday Memory; or Why My Gigs are Better Than Your Gigs

I was once performing walk around palm reading at a New Year's Eve party, and a friend was playing steel guitar with his band on the stage (we had both been booked by the same agent). I took a break and was sipping a cold drink near stage listening, when he nodded at me to indicate a young lady on the dance floor. She was quite intoxicated and dancing without inhibition of any sort. Her male partner was spinning her round and round, and she surrendered willingly to the forces of gravity and inertia. The effects were fascinating as her ample attributes were barely--and I mean BARELY contained by a very low-cut denim bustier. The band members were all grinning like Cheshire cats as they enjoyed the floor-show.

At this point her equally-intoxicated partner gave her a vigorous spin, and as she reached the apogee of the orbit, snapped her arm to reel her back in. All of Newton's Laws kicked in and the top three buttons of the bustier gave way, freeing with considerable energy that which had formerly been contained. The spectacle was magnificent. As a man of artistic sensibilities, I applauded God's divine handiwork. My friend's steel guitar, up to this point so melodious and measured, emitted several discordant squawking sounds. The other band members carried on with heroic stoicism, although several jaws seemed to have dropped.

After what seemed like a very long time, the object of every male's attention noticed what had happened, screamed, attempted to draw closed the curtains of discretion, and ran from the dance floor, leaving us all poorer in spirit but richer for the memories.