A Moving Experience

Last night I went to hear a trio of girl singers called Triple Threat at the Gaslight Theatre. They performed “A Century of Song,” singing melodies through the ages starting with the 1920s.

The house lights dimmed, the entertainers came on stage and began to belt out their first song, when a bug flew down my bodice and landed in my brassiere.

I was sitting near the front of the stage. I couldn’t get up to leave without the entire audience becoming aware of my exit. So, as the bug began to crawl around, I figured if it didn’t sting me, I’d be okay until intermission.

Every time the trio finished a song and the audience clapped---I beat my chest.

The bug didn’t die until the 1960s. The ‘60s was a time of the Viet Nam War, drugs, free love and now a dead bug in my bra. I shook it out in the Ladies Room at intermission, and the women in there were laughing so hard that I drew a crowd. One woman said that my act was better than the show, and I didn’t even have to sing.

For you purists out there---No, I don’t know what kind of bug it was, because it was well smushed by the time I got rid of it.

The moral of this tale: Curiosity kills more than cats.

Esther Blumenfeld (So, what’s the latest buzz?)