My whole body ached from last night's performance. In fifteen minutes I'd have to do it all over again.
I could barely don my black mesh stockings. I was the idiot who sued Radio City music Hall for discrimination in their hiring practices. I won. Now the whole process was completely open--gender, age, height, weight made no difference.
So here I am, a 46 year old man trying to fit into heels way too small. I get no sympathy from my peers. Ann tells me to stop whining and grow a pair. Ellen hugged me for allowing her to audition. Ellen is 4 feet eleven. I hate Sylvia and Francine, whose legs go on forever.
I stood unsteadily. George limped past. His hamstring had pulled again. Four kicks and he's useless. At least I'm sucking it up. Where's the Vaseline for my teeth so I can keep smiling?
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