Friday, February 27, 2015

'No Bra Time for Happy Hour Girls'

Maude and the girls were all sleeping soundly. It was late last night and I sat on the sofa to focus on the exciting events of my day.

I dozed off.

I awoke in the glow of a blue screen. SKY had dozed off with me and was now on its standby menu. I was still wearing Maude’s glasses – I’d put them on earlier as a way of amusing everyone and trying to do the ‘funny thing’. I remember a Steve Martin appearance on David Letterman a few years ago. Martin came on and ostentatiously sat in the wrong chair before standing, sighing and saying:

"Always trying to do the funny thing..."

Maude wears the glasses for watching TV - so I thought I'd give them a go, to see the world through her eyes. Everything was a bit blurry. I jabbed at the SKY remote control and brought up a channel at the shady far end of the satellite spectrum. Tinny dance music crept into the room. I pushed the glasses down to the tip of my nose and peeped over them. All I could see on the screen was a large leather sofa. An unseen female voice recited a premium rate number, along with some salacious encouragement to call. Her tone trailed off with lack of interest and began to remind me of an announcement that might tell shoppers that a range of bakery items was ‘reduced to clear at the end of aisle 8’.

I sat up, decided that this channel was not for me and reached for the remote. Just as I was about to switch back to the safer territory of standby, three figures appeared and took to the sofa. Three women in little more than lingerie remnants and g-strings - which seemed more revealing than actual nudity.

Two of the women were soon talking animatedly into cordless phones and seemed to be interacting with indecent callers. Their conversations were accompanied by gyrations, lewd gestures directly to camera and carnal contact with the sofa's upholstery.

The 3rd woman, in contrast, looked bereft. She smiled nervously, gulped and adjusted her negligible negligee. She did not appear to have a caller and looked off-screen for some kind of guidance. I imagined an overweight and perspiring man in headphones urging her to carry on regardless. She turned back to face her public and began to brandish a rosette showing the number 3. I guessed that this number was added to the premium rate number flashing at the foot of the screen to speak to her directly and chivvy her on to some form of gyration to match that of her colleagues.

I wanted to call.

I wanted to call to say that everything would be alright and that there must be other ways to pay the bills.

I wanted to call to suggest that she now had enough ‘body art’ and should resist peer pressure and the temptation to get any more tattoos.

I wanted to call to say that the cushions didn't match the sofa.

I hit the information button to learn that I was watching the enigmatically named:

‘No Bra Time for Happy Hour Girls.’

The next feature on the channel was to be ‘Anal Housewives 2’.

I couldn’t possibly stay tuned – I hadn’t seen the first one.

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