I’ll be out of town this weekend (how’s that for a phrase you can’t use back in Trini. Out of town? How yuh mean, yuh going Toco?! So anyway, I’ll be out of town with no internet access so I won’t be posting until maybe Sunday night, if I’m not too tired. Oh gorm! Don’t start to bawl down the place so nah. Is ok. I’ll be back soon. Yes, I’ll miss you. Yes, I’ll bring back something nice for you. So, since I have a lot of work to do today I can’t really put down no boss post (OH GORM! Stop crying! Yuh want something to cry for?!) I thought I’d leave you a nice one though. This is one of my favourite Carnival memories. Feel free to share yours, even if they freaky. It eh really have no censor on this blog.
Of Vice and Men
It was one of those Carnivals where, last minute, you and your girlfriend decide you HAVE to play. You hadn’t planned on it – you had school fees to pay, car to fix or maybe, the boyfriend at the time wasn’t too keen on the idea of you playing mas alone and he didn’t want to play with you. You know the scenario. Well, it was one of those. In the months leading up to carnival all these concerns and more had been present, leading me and my friend to decide we were going to let this Carnival pass us by. But suddenly, in the space of a week, all the problems disappeared. Boyfriends had been dumped, fees had been paid and expenses, suddenly, met, leaving enough money left to buy a costume.
Madly we scrambled into the Goddessmobile (yes, it actually said that) and headed down to Poison’s mas camp. Do you have any costumes left, we’d gasped, the assistant behind the counter smiling bemusedly at us. And miracle of miracles, not only were there costumes left, but pretty ones, sexy ones, scandalous-enough-to wear-in-celebration-of-our-suddenly-improved-circumstances ones.
And that Carnival was marvellous. It was divine. With sequins and feathers and glitter we came out to lay our claim on Port of Spain. There were gorgeous men tracking us and there were gorgeous men we were tracking. And then I realised, the section security contained that rare creature – a male HOTTIE HOTTIE! Well, I made my name, as we say. My costume consisted of silver beads that cascaded gloriously between my legs. This turned out to be a very useful flirtation device. Not only did I flirt with the Hottie, not only did I wine on the Hottie, not only did I have the Hottie trembling from the temptation that was my half naked body on the road in front of him, but I also spanked that Hottie, all day, with these fabulous, strategically placed spangles. He held my sunglasses for me, he provided shade throughout the day and he protected me from the over enthusiastic admirers encountered along the road. He proved to be a gentleman as well as a Hottie, but, alas, my hotness proved to be too much for him.
Lining up waiting to cross the stage I spanked him one too many times as he and his boys stood, arms intertwined, separating the sections. He suddenly let go of the arms to his left and his right, stepped forward, grabbed the Goddess that’s Modest by the thighs, hitched her up on his chest and start to put down waist! Well, needless to say – but I’ll say it anyway – the Goddess was most shocked. Not only did I not expect this after the man had been a paragon of good behaviour all day, but most of the cameramen are personal friends of the Hotness and had been photographing and filming her all day. A mental image of my mother seeing me strapped on this man’s chest on national TV was too much to bear. I live in fear of shaming my mother. She gets small embarrassments every once in a while but major “Aye aye neighbour ah see yuh daughter wining like a jagabat on TV with some strange man” is on the list of things I am trying to not shame my mother with.
I quickly scrambled down the man’s chest – well, I should say eventually because he made sure he exacted his revenge. And I learnt my lesson. There is only so much teasing a man can stand. Hmmm… that sounds like a point for my Dos and Don’ts list. Anyway, that’s the end and THAT is one of my favourite carnival memories. What’s yours?