Scatting over untalented fetishists and burlesqueries
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Tabitha’s hair is a presumptuos red, daring, somewhat stuck-up, but only as much as the girl herself, so despite the shocking, deep red, I have forgotten it isn’t actually her natural hair colour.
May’s hair is much more… shoulder length and brown. And the two, chatting over coffee, scatting over untalented fetishists and burlesqueries, make a very grounded pair.
Says May, “The ‘only burlesque troupe in Dallas’ is totally awful.”
“It’s true. We stood there making fun of them.”
“They should’ve done more yoga.”
“They were fat and disgusting.”
“They could’ve stood some Proud Warrior.”
“Their high kicks weren’t very high.”
“Some Downward Dog would’ve helped, too.”
I do not know May as well, but elitist witticisms fall from Tabitha’s mouth as if they were gold coins, and she, a fairy tale heroine:
“This guy was wearing gloves, and looked totally ridiculous. I was rude: ‘My friend wears gloves to keep the demons in his fingers. What’s your excuse?’ Then May dragged me away.”