How to laugh at yourself when you feel like a twit!

Article for the RAksafrica magazine
by Rushka Johnson

The other night I found myself in a ridiculous situation that I hope never to have to experience again. (But I know it will most probably, more then likely happen without me realizing it) If for no other reason then to give me a kick up the pants and bring me crashing back down to earth.

There I was, taking myself very seriously, dressed to the T in my tribal gear.When I say to the T, I mean elaborate eye make up, wild and wonderful headdress, uncomfortable poky feathers, you name it. (granted, most of the outfit was pinned on so that I could use the material again in another arrangement without forking out a wad of cash each time, but nonetheless Nobody Knew that!) I grandly enter the venue to make my way backstage, only to be welcomed by a sea of shocked old ladies and gents, peacefully drinking from their crystal glasses, talking of the latest gossip in church and the history of their rose patches. (This should tell you a bit about the predicament I was in).
They were shocked to see such a weird character entering. Now this is when I had a large plane cloth draped over myself covering my jingles and jangles, feathers and shells. 

THEY HADN'T EVEN SEEN WHAT I WAS WEARING YET, let alone what I was about to do! The night thus far, had been filled with a boys choir singing, 'you raise me up", ' yesterday" and so on and suchlike.
Their angelic voices filling the hall and delighting the audience... (MY future audience!!). Well what was I to do? Running out of their in a whirlwind of feathers, cloths and beads did occur to me but It was too late! They had already seen me and were fidgeting in their seats in a nervous expectant sort of way.



I had but two choices, I could go on up there and dance in a shy, sort of not wanting to offend the choir boys sort of way OR I could stop a few old ladies hearts and watch in amusement, dads blocking kids eyes while trying , with all of their hearts, to avert their gazes towards something more "respectable". I wont tell you which of the two I chose to do.

But I will tell you this.
When I glanced at the door leading backstage , the choir boys looked as though they had morphed into the shape of the door, squashed into a tight rather uncomfortable looking rectangular shape.
The shocked and horrified, conservative faces that I expected to see emerging from the darkened audience had transformed into faces with the same expression (watered down version) that I remember on my daughters face when she saw her brother being born. The expression that a person has when seeing something for the first time and discovering that ...to their horror... they actually love it.
Rushka Johnson Port Elizabeth