Life Style Refugee – The Ajijic Blog

Mexico is the undisputed headquarters of the visible panty line.

I have theories about plumpness having retained some of it’s personality as a feminine ideal down here. Certainly the girls aren’t self concious about exposing their midriffs, and it doesn’t seem that having more midriff to expose worries anyone.

Sometimes there is a lot, a whole lot, of midriff on display.

From what I can see, the local girls wear really cute school uniforms until adolescence, then they all change into underwear, jeans, and tee shirts that appear to have shrunk on the line. Then I guess they get married and change back into blouses and skirts.

But no matter what they’re wearing, there will be a panty line. And I suspect that maybe that is considered hot, too. So if you want to catch yourself a Mexican hombre, let it all hang out.

Speaking of pantylines, I’m working backstage at the Lakeside Little Theatre production of  La Cage aux Folles. My job is to “dress” Don Rausch, who plays Albain, and who, when in character, makes Nathan Lane look like a meathead. My friend Georgette thinks the 90 minute show is probably going to run for 4 hours because there are so many huge laughs.

Backstage it’s all very ”I’ve got a barn, let’s have a show!”

It reminds me vividly of the time that the Miami touring company of A Chorus Line came down over the 7 mile bridge to perform in the Key West High School auditiorium.

Enterprising moms sold brownies and champagne at intermission, and the homos all showed up in full length furs carrying opera glasses. Nobody talked about anything else for months

This theatre is a full time, amazingly professional operation, staffed entirely by  very dedicated and talented volunteers. There’s a lesson in it for me…it’s a  charitable contribution to provide art on a level that wouldn’t be otherwise available.

The lesson is that I am neither poor nor incapacitated nor disenfranchised, but without this donation of time and talent, I would never have theatre in Lakeside. And the world needs art as well as medicine.

Speaking of theatre, ( and the incapacitated ) Dancing with the Stars is back! Oh, thank God. They’ve fielded a cast of thousands this season, but I guaran-damn-tee you that Heather Mills, charity campaigner and rock God hoser is going to be in the finals.

And she should be…..I don’t care what she did to Paul McCArtney, it takes a special someone to flip over backward in mambo time with two legs or one.

I’m teaching a salsa class on the top floor of Danny’s restaurant on the carretarra, and none of us could get in the ring with that girl.

Heather I mean, not Mohommed Ali’s daughter, who is also competing, in case you’re living in a cave.

Last year, when Dancing with the Stars was on, we were getting ready to leave Virginia. The night we left our townhouse in Chantilly, I had hired three hunky marines from Quantico to load our pack-it-yourself moving truck.

Somehow during the move they unhooked a cable from the TV. Bruno moved me into a hotel so fast that I never missed so much as a commercial….he knew that Dancing with the Stars was the only thing between me and complete meltdown.

We spent two days at RedRoof Inn translating our menage a casa into Spanish. Oh, by the way? Theresa White at Strom moving  does the whole menage thing, I was just making it hard on myself.

We’re getting ready for our first Easter in Mexico. I overhear conversations backstage about the traffic during Semana Santa,  and one friend assured me that not only is Easter the biggest religious holiday in Mexico, but that we should also be prepared for mischief making.

Bruno is impressed with the reverence for Our Lord that might lead someone to spray paint the car, but what do we know?