STEAMPUNK STRIPPER! By Neil
Coleman 12/11/19
“No … you stay home, girl. I took you for a long walk this morning. I got up early, just for you.”
Perdy’s eyes
said otherwise. She gave me a look that went beyond my attire. Indeed, she
couldn’t have cared less about my crazy ‘look.’ My black costume festooned
with a plethora of decor from times past … or was its times neutral, historic
reality mixed with fantasy gone mad? Perdy had been there, while I slaved late
into many nights, cutting, inventing new techniques, attaching, mending,
repairing mistakes, pricking fingers, swearing copiously, calling for help,
strutting around, then changing my mind.
On one
occasion, well past midnight, I almost threw in the towel, until I realized
that an old towel was all I needed to modify a kind of ‘vagabondous’ look. I
stitched it to a flowing cloak. My costume weighed as much as a small car,
along with so many additions, I could be heard from quite a distance; clinging,
clacking, ringing and reflecting light in a manner that defeated the stars in
the Milky Way.
The morning
of the parade was upon me. Breakfast was done and dusted, I visited the toilet
for the last time because any visits from here on were going to be a mission.
Perdy made another attempt to ‘guilt-me-out.’ I folded. Hell … her company
would be great, and she loves a good walk. The noise of the parade would keep
her close to me, and I’d stay well away from the beating drums of the ‘Latin Marchers.’ “Come on then … here … stick this on your
collar. It’s just a bit of bling-punk-bling!”
I attached
Perdy to me in the usual fashion; a tried and true method to contain her
exuberance; the long leash clicked around my much-expanded waist, in a non-calorific
manner. Still … I looked like a huge monument to fashion gone wrong. I figured
I’d be lost in the crowd of similar displays of Thame’s version of The Big Gay
Out.
I pushed the
car seat to its maximum and folded myself in. “I may regret this, Perdy … It’s
gonna be a hot one.” She jumped up onto the parcel tray and barked the whole
way in to town, where after driving around the block several times, I found a car
park behind the bookshop. We walked down a side-street, avoiding the main
street. A crowd had gathered at the
southern end of the street, waiting for a signal to begin the procession. Perdy
wasn’t the only dog. She dragged me towards a beautiful Labrador, whose Mum had
matched her attire to that of her fur-babe. Her glance at Perdy informed me that
she thought I was a lazy bastard. “She won’t let me add much more than a
collar,” I said defensively.
Ten minutes
later, the parade kicked off. An explosion of music covering many genres
punctuated warm air. I was already sweating, beneath the top-hat, cloak. and
yes … the dagger! At first, it was manageable, trudging along to the cries of
the admiring crowd. It seemed everyone was taking pictures, or sending out live
feeds on Facebook
It wasn’t
long before Perdy decided that walking along the main street simply bored her …
barking at the crowd, the dogs, imagined vermin and people she knew from our numerous
walks. She took interest in a voluminous dress, that dragged along behind a
woman, enticingly just out of her reach … almost … oh no! She pounced, grabbing
the hemline in her mouth. She tugged … all eight kilos of muscle, and reverse
pulled. The woman screamed as half her dress departed from her back. Luckily,
she had an underlay of frilly garments, something passing for a Nineteenth
Century petticoat, I guess, but looking more like something from a sex shop.
She tried to grab the ruined dress from Perdy’s mouth, a hopeless task, because
my monster had started ripping it to shreds, like an unlucky rat. To make
matters worse, the people around us were laughing. I wasn’t.
I took off my
cloak and thrust it towards the distraught lady. I looked at her more closely.
I knew her, beneath her layers of makeup, long eyelashes and iridescent
lipstick. “I’m so sorry,” I offered pathetically as she grabbed the cloak and
wrapped it around her shoulders. Bits dropped off, bouncing in front of Perdy,
who immediate tried to gather them up. In the meantime, the crowd of marchers
parted either side of the spectacle. From various comments, it sounded like
people thought it was ‘staged.’
Thankfully,
the woman played along, but the darting, angry looks directed at Perdy and me,
spoke otherwise. Then she seemed to recognize me. Unbelievably, she started
laughing. “YOU … owe me, big time mate!” Perdy had finally let go the remnants
of her dress. The cloak added a crazy, pseudo-sexual quality to her look,
something halfway between a dominatrix and Wonder Woman.
“I am so
sorry,” I spluttered. I had met her several times on the walks Perdy, and I
enjoyed every day. “How can I make up for Perdy’s ‘wreck-fest?”
We stopped
and moved to the side of the road in a gap outside a café. “Let’s go inside,” I
said, indicating the café. She followed. We found a seat, close to the window,
just outside. “What can I get you?”
“I don’t think
they serve what I need. Just grab me a flat white and a slice.” She pulled a
small flask from her Victorian handbag. Tell Rex to leave a gap … for this,”
she added. “I so need it. Now … where are you taking me for an EXPENSIVE
dinner, tonight?!”
“Thanks Perdy
… you always make my day, eh. Is it gonna be poll dancing next year?”
