Beasted and bested by the boa

The feather boa is an ill-disciplined thing.

It sticks to the back of one’s neck at the merest hint of perspiration.

It attaches the feathers that it has shed to one’s fishnets – always at the back so that they waggle away, blissfully out of one’s view.

It grips fingers like a constrictor, twirling itself tightly around them, seconds before the boa is due to be cast exuberantly off and away.

And it refuses, gleefully, to fall where it should when removed and thrown to the floor.

It is, it must be said, a brilliantly funny sight to see a showgirl trying repeatedly to kick away discretely a boa that has wrapped itself firmly around a heel or ankle or wedged itself in a shoe buckle. Watching this happen in class on Wednesday, I was reminded of the furtive little foot shoves and foot shakes that one gives to a small and randy dog who is intent on mating with one’s leg and whose owners just don’t care.

Needless to say, the boa in question was unrepentant.

Yours, at the mercy of our props,

Burlicious x