Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Oh, Eastern Cowgirl Fern, you saucy, spangled temptress...!
Luring wine-soaked businessmen to their dooms as you writhe onstage to ZZ Top; stretching your lanky legs into configurations few thought possible; ruthlessly abrading the metal pole with the scales on your stretchpants; insouciantly tossing your collar tips to select "rough-riders" whom you'll meet later, and secretly; dazzling the crowds with the strobe-light concealed within the ludicrously-tall crown of your cowgirl hat; smiling only seldom, because of your embarrassing overbite; ignoring the numbness in your feet after cinching your "ankle bandana" too tightly; doggedly removing all alcohol and bodily fluids from your tiny daughter's pageant vest before placing it back in her closet right before she awakens (for she must never know how the two of you can afford to live in this respectable brownstone -- that is your solemn vow)...!
Oh, Eastern Cowgirl Fern... why do you fascinate me so?
UPDATE: Holy shit. She's an actual person. Real Eastern Cowgirl Fern, I offer you my sincerest apologies.