Our Production Number involved 99 cent black light bulbs from Spencer Gifts and a dance routine to "Waitin' on the Robert E. Lee," ... with tambourines. Where our teeth glowed in the dark.
I always insist my "talents" were sword swallowing and stripping tobacco, but the sad truth is: I had no talent. Mostly, I just wanted to ride in the parade and throw candy, which I did, but in one of those "be careful what you wish for" moments, the clutch went out in the vintage convertible Caddy I rode in (which reportedly once belonged to FDR). This meant Mr. Taylor, who owned the car, stowed his two little boys in the back seat, UNDER my ample tulle skirts, with strict instructions that they were to each grab a leg and hold on to me so I didn't slide off the back of the convertible everytime he popped the clutch enough to get it to jerk forward the requisite few inches parade traffic required. I found "beauty" to be hot, sweaty, panic-inducing work.
Asked occasionally if my skills from then are transferable now, the only answer I have is: bear in mind, I lost.
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