The Posey Peep Show

My first attempt at a Shortee. I had to cut seven words, so I don't know if I succeeded or not. You be the judge.

“It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure.”

I shrugged in agreement as I slid my pants on, trying to look as artistic as possible. I wasn’t quite sure how well my wardrobe would support it, but I was trying my hardest.

One of her more bohemian friends had suggested we see a production by the local absurdist burlesque group. I wasn’t too keen on seeing scantly clad self-proclaimed artistic types, but I’d always wanted to see inside the Lowe Mill. I agreed.

As we climbed the steep steps and walked across the naked wood floor past the burnt corsets (some feminist outcry against either politics or men or both) and crude bronzes of naked pregnant women (another outcry, most likely), I got the sinking feeling I just didn’t fit.

My torn and mended jeans, brand-new American Eagle vintage polo and zipped up generic brand grey hooded sweatshirt, dressed down by tile and drywall covered sneakers paled in comparison to the ensembles some of the patrons sported.

After the first anti-government message was sung, I cringed. After the fourth, I gagged. After the three-hundred and twenty-second, they raised the lights and we left. I’ve never hated half-naked women more.