Oh lordy lordy!
Sometime around the year 1998-99, we had the University Ball coming up. One evening down the SU bar, they were having some sort of hootenany/shindig when the performing monkeys on stage (two students who were on the SU Council Of Elders) asked for some volunteers for a short performance, the prize being free tickets to the Uni Ball. One guy was hauled up, the other one was the hero of this fable (of course, why else would I be writing this??).

So anyway, us two suckers, I mean "volunteers" get dragged backstage to get glammed up while the rest of the rabble (somewhere around a couple hundred pissed up students) were entertained by a looped tape of lift music. What would we be made to look like? Disco heroes? Super heroes? Rock Stars? Nay, Nay and thrice, Nay. Standing there, quivering in anticipation (and due to alcohol shakes), we were shown our costumes. Two, rather worn-out dresses, as in the kind that nubile females wear (and only nubile females SHOULD wear, I hasten to add) and silver glitter wigs. Should have seen that one coming.

We get to work by stripping off to our undies, getting into the dress (although, given my ample frame, I should have required a girdle first!) and then donning the glitter wig. Even after sucking my gut in, I couldn't do up the front so my rather (ok, overly) hairy man-boobs burst out of their confines like King Kong's bollocks in a thong. I managed to catch sight of myself in the mirror and burst out laughing (must have been the alcohol) before being told to quickly make my way out to the stage. Oh yes, the stage. In front of hundreds of drunk students. Most likely with cameras.

Anyway, like the brave soldier I (wish I) am, I made the short (though at the time it could have been five hundred miles and it would still seem short!) walk out front along with the other unwitting soul (who looked a lot better than me in drag, though in fairness, he didn't have a beard that could rival Brian Blessed's exceptional face furniture) to face the adoring public. House system starts blaring out "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls and we prance on stage with the other monkeys as best we can. Imagine if you can, people. A six foot 2, 17 stone bloke with enough body hair to stuff a warehouse to bursting point, squeezed into a worn-out brown (BROWN!!!) dress (I think it may have been floral too) and a glitter wig (which was gaffer taped to my head as I wear a turban), dancing to "Wannabe" on stage in his army surplus boots. Any chance I may have had of pulling that night (or ever, after that display) disappeared in the wink of a (brown) eye.

What could make this experience all the more enjoyable, not just for me but for Joe Six-pack watching me? Why, a flash of my grundies of course. Cue me going to the front of the stage, spotting my mates and then giving an eyeful of my pants before running around on stage like a diseased Yak in its final death throes. Of course, in my head I was a Dancing Diva with enough Sexual charisma to make the Mona Lisa wet. Still, I had the last laugh as I got a pair of ball tickets for free. Score!! Mind you, I did have to put up with the "Beardy Spice" comments for a while afterwards.

And that event, among others in my life, makes me cringe whenever I think back to it.

Apologies for length/width/hairyness. Hope the story was easy to follow and didn't bounce around too much (unlike my moobs), I'm writing this while I'm at work. Naughty naughty!!
(RVD420 has his world coming down on, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 16:09, 1 reply)

Have a *click*
for mentioning King Kong's bollocks.
(GONEism, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 16:40, closed)