Just Another Day
Since this is the fifth year in a row that my body upgrade has not arrived, I canceled my Amazon Prime membership immediately. Well, that’s not exactly true. First, I had to finish streaming the last season of Monk. But I promise you that as soon as the final credits rolled, I didn’t hesitate to cancel it. I mean, some things I just won’t stand for. I’m a paying customer after all. And I deserve better.
Because I had no other choice, I was forced to go to the beach in the body that I had. Instead of wearing my Snuggie like I did last year, I decided to be a little more reasonable this season. I wore a yellow pant suit to be less obvious. At first, I was going to wear a full-body romper, but my dad said male rompers were so last season, so I opted not to. Hey, sometimes I use good judgement. It’s rare, but sometimes I do.
Slightly ashamed of not meeting my beach body goals, the first thing I did when I arrived at the beach was order an Italian sausage, boardwalk fries, a large Coke, and a side of Skittles. I noticed some strange looks as I walked along the beach. Initially, I thought the looks were because people were jealous of my pant suit and wished they had thought to wear one too. It’s not their fault they aren’t as creative as I am.
After about two minutes on the beach, I began to rethink my whole outfit choice. Although my skin was completely covered and I didn’t have to use sunblock, I began to overheat. I started sweating in places that I’m sure it’s illegal to sweat from. Also, surprisingly, seagulls like the color yellow, so I was repeatedly being pecked in places where I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to be pecked.
Under the circumstances, I did what any normal person would do. I took it as an opportunity to revisit my former dream job as a lunch-hour stripper where I went by the name of Caramel Macchiato Thunder. I was never good enough to work the night shift at an actual strip club, so my coworkers got the privilege of viewing me rhythmically thrusting right over their cobb salads. I never made less than $5 in tips each lunch hour. Those were the days.
Anyway, although I was a little rusty, I slowly rose and planted my feet in the middle of my beach towel. I decided to make it my stage. To get folks ready for the show, I clapped twice to grab their attention. Once I had them eating out of the palm of my hand, I decided to start off by slowly swaying from side to side. I mean, you don’t want to give people too much too soon. After all, there were children present.
Once I started really feeling the music playing in my head, I started to slowly unbutton the blazer of my pant suit, then I quickly buttoned it back up to make the wait more dramatic. Besides, I have class. Remember, I used to strip for the likes of the CFO, IT Director, and consultants in the lunch room. If there is anything that stripping in front of your boss, it’s to be classy while you provocatively dance over a plate of steamed carrots.
Eventually, I remembered that the whole purpose of the dance was to get out of the pant suit. I was getting hotter by the second—and not in a good way. Once I finally worked my way out of the blazer, I whirled it over my head a few times for good measure. Remember, I didn’t have a routine planned, so all of this was improvised. However, as you well know, I am a professional, so I made it work.
Around about the fifth rotation of the blazer over my head, I released it midair. It landed on someone’s dad. He didn’t look pleased, which is understandable because he had been sleeping. He hadn’t seen me getting all warmed up, so he had no idea what was coming. For all he knew, my blazer landing on his head could have just as easily been a shark that washed up on the shore for a snack. In hindsight, that was probably pretty frightening for him.
To alleviate his concerns, I yelled, “Enjoy the show, sir. I’ll get it back when I’m done. Get your dollars ready.??? At this point I decided to really get their heart rates moving by quickly working my way out of my button-down shirt. This was a bit difficult because the shirt had at least ten buttons or so. It was then that I remembered that most dancers just rip their shirts open and let the buttons fly where they may. I opted not to do this because I had just spent $4.99 on that shirt. I had at least a few more wears out of it before I’d want to ruin it. Nope. Not on my watch.
Ten minutes later, once I had carefully taken the shirt off, I began to wiggle my way out of my pants. To keep everyone engaged, I slung my head from side to side. Of course, I don’t have hair, but I considered this to be the audience participation portion where they could imagine me with whatever hair they wanted. If they chose to envision me with long Fabio hair flapping in the breeze, or even wild Beyoncé hair, who am I to judge? After all, I’m an entertainer.
Once my suit pants were around my ankles, I decided to simply end it there. I didn’t want to give the audience too much. As an entertainer, you always have to leave them wanting more. Besides, I wanted to be respectful of the fact that it was 8:44 in the morning and me dancing vigorously in my non-beach body may have been a lot to take in before breakfast.
Once I stepped out of my pants, I tried to lead the crowd into a slow clap like they do in the movies. Unfortunately, the audience didn’t exactly catch on. I think they were still mesmerized by what they had just witnessed. I mean, if I had been treated to the rhythmic stylings of Caramel Macchiato Thunder on the beach, I would have been in shock and awe too. It’s understandable.
At that point, I put out my tip hat and threw on my life jacket and matching floaties because you can never be too careful. I then ran in slow motion toward the water. Just like they do on Baywatch. You should have seen it. It was a beautiful sight to behold. But then I tripped and rolled the rest of the way down the shoreline. Guess you can’t win them all. As I caught my breath, I was thankful for having the foresight to wear my floaties. Thankful for being smart enough to use protection.
Michael Rochelle
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