The Breast Blog: How to Become a Breast Health Ambassador: Shoulding on Yourself
Somewhere back in the mid 80's, I was traveling around Europe, with a Vitamin B pee coloured back pack and a multi-month EuroRail Train pass. I also had the detailed European touring itinerary of the band, Chris DeBurgh.
Prior to leaving Canada on my adventure, I had M.C.'d the wedding of my childhood friend Dianne and her sweetie Grant. Thanks to some clever remarks and a funny slide show, I hit it off with Al, a member of Chris's band and an usher at the dew.
Europe was to be my first long term, overseas quest so I was quick to spill my beans, given the chance. When Al reported that he too was heading to the Continent with Chris DeBurgh, as the opening act for SuperTramp, I just about burst. I loved my eight track copy of Breakfast In American.
Al slipped me his phone number and said, "call me in a couple of weeks so I can give you our dates and contacts". My Europe gig was about to take a turn toward an unimaginable direction. I was about to become a groupie.
Over the months of traveling, I hitched up with Al on several occasions. Amsterdam, my starting point, coincided with a concert date and was my first step into the land of back stage culture. I was spell bound and loved the intensity required by so many people to put on a show.
As my backpacking savvy grew, I thought nothing of catching 20 hours worth of train connections to meet up for a single show. Besides Al, the stage crew and I hit it off and before long, I was on the bus for an extended tour through Germany.
Then came Stuttgart. By now, summer had unfolded and the concerts were massive, open air, full day affairs with thousands of people in attendance. Chris DeBurghs' popularity had increased tenfold since my first show and the buzz was palatable. Being a girl from rural Canada, I was truly digging this surreal scene.
Then it happened. The guys were just taking the stage to the roar of the crowd when Bill, the stage manager , approached me holding a tassel laden bikini hanging from a hanger. Apparently, the Stripper who was suppose to perform during Chris's hit song,'Patricia the Stripper' had failed to materialize. So Bill asked me to fill in.
I looked at Bill in amazement and laughed, thinking that he was having me on. But he was dead serious. He wanted me to squeeze myself into this micro sized, shiny red, bra and thong, strut across the stage and strip the crowd into a lather.
I politely declined. The offer was a million miles away from my sense of self. And I knew instantly, that because of my self identity, this would be my last concert.
Over the year's, in my minds eye, I've tried to play out the stripper gig to see where it would lead. But I never get very far. I fall down, climbing the stage stairs in the required 4 inch stilettos.
Should I have said yes? It's way too late for that question. Shoulding on myself will only make me feel like shit. I obviously made the right decision for me at the time. And I'm still hopeless in heels.