Cirque de Soleil will be calling soon. I am sure.
Yes, at my mature age, I am running off to join the circus! It was an accidental discovery of talents I didn’t know I had.
I have a background in theatre so I feel well prepared for the theatrics involved. Although I must admit that I will be a little shy about shedding the sweat pants and t-shirts for the sequined, feathered and translucent fabrics which will attempt to disguise my mature figure. Did you notice that nice word “mature”? How about “ample”? Yes, that is more honest. Okay, I will compromise. Allow me a rewrite of that sentence. “Although I must admit that I will be a little shy about shedding the sweat pants and t-shirts for the sequined, feathered and translucent fabrics which will attempt to disguise my ample, mature but still hot body!” There…I feel better.
Despite my theatrical talents, my friends and family will be more than surprised when they learn of my newly discovered athletic prowess. My entire life has been a struggle to keep both feet on the ground. I have never been called graceful, coordinated or poetry in motion. Dance? No, I will just sit here and sip my drink and laugh at you. Volleyball? No, it is too hot and I don’t like sand between my teeth. Pilates? You are kidding, right?
So imagine everyone’s surprise when I headline at Cirque de Soleil:
“Ladies and gentleman! Cirque de Soleil is proud to present The Renaissance Chick, The Barrel Roll Bimbo!”
The stage will go black. A spotlight will shoot its single beam through the darkness until it lands on sparkles…millions and millions of rhinestones! Then the lighting tech will realize that his spotlight is only illuminating my sparkling ass, so an additional lighting tech will turn a second spotlight upon my well coifed, feather laden, newly highlighted blonde head and the light will follow the sparkles down my body until the light stops…on my dog. Yes, Sweetie, my 130 pound pure white Great Pyrenees is at the end of a rhinestone leash which is wrapped round and round my wrist! As the lights come up on the stage, the audience gasps. Once they get past staring at my mature, ample but still hot body in millions of sparkles, they notice that Sweetie and I are perched atop a high platform of steps.
The music begins. Tension is in the air. Mothers clutch their children to their breasts in anticipatory excitement. Men cover their eyes with their hands but leave their fingers open in order to peek through the cracks. Perhaps it is the foreboding music which makes them fear. Perhaps it is the sight of the mature, ample but still hot woman awash in sparkles which makes them slightly nauseous. Whatever. All eyes are on the stage.
Right on cue, Sweetie’s ears perk up, her eyes focus on a far away object and her body becomes rigid with attention. I, on the other hand, am looking at the audience and waving. I am blonde. Enough said. The music begins to crescendo. It is time. Sweetie bolts. Fast. She runs across the platform gaining speed with the movement of each huge, white, hairy paw. Sweetie runs so fast that she is just a white streak of movement to the audience, but is a slow motion acrobatic partner to me. As Sweetie leaps from the high platform, I react…mostly because her rhinestone leash is wrapped round and round my wrist. Her swiftness, her speed, her stupidity catapults my mature, ample but still hot body into midair where I then perform a perfect barrel roll…much like a B52, a mature, ample but still hot aircraft. Sweetie’s perfect timing along with my newly discovered athletic prowess creates this graceful air ballet…my body projected into space tumbling round and round and round. And then with the grace of an Olympic pole vaulter, I miss each and every step on the way down as I land with a choreographed thud on my back. The applause erupts! The Renaissance Chick has done it again!
At least that’s what happened this weekend with my dog, my deck and my mature, ample but still sore body.