On Saturday night, after I had returned home from a fundraiser for the school district, I had a text from one of my brothers. It was the sort of text that only gets sent in the later hours of a weekend night–spelling and grammar were not quite there, but the jist of the message was that he was at the newest gay bar in town with our parents. The most shocking part of that text was that anyone would open such a place in our little suburb. Two larger cities are a half hours drive away, and either would seem to be a better choice for such an establishment.
When I told dad that I didn’t see such a place doing well, he pointed out that they were packed.
“Of course, they had what they called a show. Which was basically a bunch of guys dancing and lip-synching. In women’s clothes. And big hair.”
“They weren’t bad, although most of them looked like they were about my age. There was one though who couldn’t have been more than 19 or 20, he weighed about 300 pounds, but he was a good dancer.”
“Yeah, the big ones in my experience pull out all the stops. I’ve seen them do splits and stuff I couldn’t even attempt without ending up in the ER.”
“Yeah, he was down on the ground doing the snake at the end of one of the songs.”
So there ya have it, a drag show in suburban West Virginia. Who’d have thunk it?