Hairspray
I went out with some friends last Friday night and launched my middle-aged Zimbabwean bod (with back-ache – damn those stretches!) into the unsuspecting press of preppy 20-somethings crowded around the bar. Thankfully there weren’t many teenagers present. There is something pathetic about them drinking as much as they possibly can before mum comes to collect them but I suppose I should be grateful they aren’t doing lines – it may be that they just bring back uncomfortable memories? Those that were around were covered, if not flatteringly in some cases, at least, for the most part, modestly. The blissful ignorance that winter brings. I was spared the kitsch tattoos and piercings and bum cracks and g-strings and hints of front fluff.
The boys were more disappointing, giving truth to the fact that fashion does not always equal style. There were ¾ pants and tracksuits rolled up to make ¾ pants. The poor unfortunate had obviously spent his entire allowance on hairspray – he was artfully windswept and coiffed – a peacock would’ve been proud. And they were all wearing an unattractive off-shoot of the commonly spotted (staying with our bird theme) tommy takkie, but without laces. There were sawn-off T-shirts a la Bruce Springsteen, sadly without the muscle, in more ways than one. There were windsurfer dudes with shaggy bobs that had also seen the better half of a tub of hair wax – evidenced by the lack of movement even in the stiffest breeze and despite vigorous head banging!
I’m afraid to say the music was less than inspirational. I wasn’t moved to hit the dance floor, and didn’t even tap my foot occasionally. And I am one of those who considers themselves incredibly sexy after a few drinks – nothing keeps me from dancing. The evidence the next day suggests that the “sprinkler system” dance move is less than sexy, and sometimes, not even funny. And yet it remains a firm favourite, oh how I laugh! I should’ve been forewarned when we spied the lesser warbling duckie perched on a bar stool with his guitar as we arrived – never a good sign. I think he was singing “A la Bamba”…. enough said.