Le Coochie Dancer Malgré Lui

If you've been coming here for a while you know that when it comes to making good on her Big Plans, Dolores ranks somewhere between President Bush and Mr. Toad.

I've been stuck at work so much lately that home, when I was there, seemed relatively quiet and I'd grown hopeful that this, too would pass. I inquired of Harry, who answered evasively and quickly returned to the Ida B. Wells page of his Sistahs with Attitude Coloring Book.

Then, last night, I found something stuck between the sofa cushions:



I confronted the resident chanteuse with it this morning when I got home from the gym.

"I wondered what the hell happened to that," she said. "Much obliged, cupcake."

"I take it the show is still on?"

"When an artist is announced, an artist must perform."

"And you've recruited your chorus line?"

"Yeah. Didn't you read the back of the page?"

"The front was more than sufficient."

She flipped it over and held in under my nose.

"Why is my name on this list?"

"I guess I forgot to mention it. I need a novelty act. You're a little long in the tooth, but Lucky Horseshoe people told me I have to cater to all tastes. Do you still have that cop shirt Lars gave you?"

"Yes, but–"

"Fabulous, we're all set. Don't worry, I'm scheduling evening rehearsals since a buncha the other guys got day jobs, too. You know, Genghis is only five-five...how do you feel about a duo number? No tongues."

"I'm not–"

"Listen, I'd love to chat," she said, "But I have an early appointment with the costume designer. We can catch up later tonight. No, I have a date. Tomorrow night, then. Meet and greet with the other guys before the choreographer gets here. Wear something stretchy."

Anybody in the Chicago area have a spare room to rent?