Oh, the shame of it. I couldn't possibly say it out loud. Could I? The dreams of a little girl....
So very different than the Mature, Mild-Mannered adult I've become. Surely it couldn't reflect badly on me now?
Still. There's that part of me, that eensy-weensy part of me that thinks it would be a hoot. If only '70's TV shows were still a part of all our lives...
I'd be a Solid Gold Dancer.
It was around this time of life, my Solid Gold Dancer years, that another career line hit me. I was reading a newspaper story. (Here's a visual for your laughing pleasure: I was sitting there on a faux-leather couch in our dark-paneled living room with orange shag carpet and ten-pound dial telephone next to me. My hair was down to the backs of my knees, parted down the middle Marsha Brady-style, and wearing those little socks with the fuzzy balls at the ankles.)
The article was about income levels and it listed all sorts of careers. Near the top was one that sounded easy enough to do, and boy oh boy, did it bring in lots of money! So I called to my Mom, "I've changed my mind for my future goals. When I grow up, I want to be... a Call Girl!"
My Mom sprang through the strands of beads separating every room of the house, and, still half-wound up in them, asked, "WHAT?!?"
I knew something was amiss because her mood ring went black.
"Er...nothing," I managed, the light from the lava lamp churning like my stomach.
That night we gathered around our big 24 inch TV that was thicker than it was wide and as I watched those beautiful, swishing-at-their-butts dancers in their fringed gold outfits, I thought, Heck, I don't want to make phone calls for a living, anyway.
Monday, July 28, 2008
When I Grow Up, I Want To Be....
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4 comments:
I'd COMPLETELY forgotten about the Solid Gold dancers. Those were some pretty impressive role models. Still, even then my aspirations leaned more toward being a MatchGame '76 contestant.
I loved your post. I laughed out loud!
I laughed out loud too.
April, my sister and I used to stand in front of the tv while Solid Gold was on, shimmying and tossing our heads violently (once my sister gave herself a serious neck injury). There was something so naughty about those dancers, my father would walk in and shake his head at us--in an attempt to shake the image right out of his head, no doubt.
Debbie,
I'm dusting off my sunbonnets. I wore my hair in braids daily for years because people told me I looked like Melissa Gilbert (in her buck teeth stage--the resemblence is uncanny) Don't get me started on those wonderful books. . . .
I was afraid of the Solid Gold Dancers. I was old enough to vaguely understand the sexiness and it scared me.
Much better to be a comedy show writer like Dick Van Dyke. Or a witch, like Samantha.
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