Celebrations, universal truths and nipple caps
Some nights are too special not to note to memory literarily. This is the story of one of those. To paint you a picture – I have been waiting for this exact moment for two excruciatingly long months. I wrote my attorney’s admissions exams in the beginning of August, and thereafter, it was two months of slow torture waiting for the results. Last night, 30 September 2010, I got those exact results, and I aced it – I passed all four of the gruelling papers that are the defining point of an 8 year old girl’s dream, 12 years of school, 4 years of university, seven months of night school and a year and a half of being a candidate attorney, and of course, all the happiness and heartache that comes with those experiences. This is it. Of course, there is still a substantive application that must be made and the scrutiny of the High Court to be suffered, but this is it. This is all the necessary qualification boxes ticked.
For anyone out there who has ever had a dream, you will understand that this moment came with no small amount personal satisfaction. If there was ever a reason to celebrate, this was the holy grail of reasons. And celebrate I did. Unbeknownst to the greatness this day was going to have in store for me, I agreed to go to the theatre with my amazing friend Charne Mentz, courtesy of her Cheese. The show? Gstings and Nipplecaps, a frank one-woman show about a stripper.
Now, until I was eighteen and retired due to injury, I spent all my time either on stage as a dancer, or preparing for it. I have an infinite love for the theatre and all things cultural. That being said, when you’re invited to a show about a stripper, the first misconception, is that it’s going to be all ass and tail. The second, is that it will not have any emotive apart from the provocative. Without sounding like a marketing agent for the said production, and with due cognisance of my hate for being wrong, I categorically state that I was wrong on both accounts.
The night started off on a high, of course, as I was already basking in the glory that was my good news. Drinks were certainly on the menu, and on the advises of the friendly staff at the Victory Theatre bar, I decided on ordering a bucket full. The show certainly calls for a lowering of inhibitions and the merriment that comes along with a drink or two.
The lights dimmed, and Meat Loaf boomed over the speakers as the glitter ball caught the sparkle in my eye. The show started and even though I am going to leave the content thereof to the curiosity of your imagination, I will reveal some flashes of what was a night to remember. The cleverly chosen music and audience participation was all underlined with a truth as naked as the leading lady. As the show drew to a end, I found myself profoundly moved to that place deep within where the threshold of my own emotions tugged first gently at my soul and then roared through my being until they manifesteded in an uncontrollable swell that spilt down my cheeks in salty waves.
John Powell’s words have never resonated so much within me
‘I may be somewhat afraid to tell you who I am… For if I tell you who I am, you may not like who I am, and that is all I have.’
The night continued with more drinks with great friends who understand that every once in a while, it is actually all about you and they have the wisdom to allow you your moment. To end off a perfect night, a quick drive home saw me in bed and enjoying a well deserved peaceful night’s sleep, the weight of the wait finally lifted off my shoulders.