Of Dreaming Whores and Bright Colors

My sainted father was a man of rich vocabulary and wry, dry humor. He was very, very funny – and I never realized until I was almost an adult that much of what we laughed about was probably not appropriate for childish ears. I don’t care. That man was a delight.

It’s probably worth noting that he went to the live burlesque shows in Kansas City every Monday night for years. He went with a friend of his, John Gillies, and always swore he went for the comedians. Which, of course, is like readying Playboy for the articles.

I don’t know when I learned that some strippers could twirl their tassels in opposite directions, but it was probably way to early.

One of daddy’s favorite stories was that on the first Monday after he and mother married, he called John and asked him if he was ready to go to the Follies. Mother was at a meeting or something, don’t you see, so he thought it would be funny to call John. I still think that’s damn funny.

But anyway, about two of daddy’s favorite phrases – the first is “a whore’s dream”. A whore’s dream is anything absurdly colorful or wildly outrageous, especially loud colors where they are not expected. Let’s say you paint your house a vivid lilac (some people did, and I suppose still do) or bright green. THAT looks like the stuff of a whore’s nighttime fantasies.

The other favorite phrase was “a sartorial jackpot”. I still use this one. A sartorial jackpot is an outfit that is a wild gathering of items that do NOT go together. A plaid shirt with striped pants and a polka dot tie – THAT would do it. Or it’s several shades of red worn together. Hard to describe, but you know it when you see it. (As if you are a Supreme Court justice looking at pornography.)

Generally, the two phrases are not used together. But I did know one person who was a perfect confluence of the two.

When we lived in Chicago, most mornings I would meet a black transvestite prostitute walking home as I was walking to the express bus downtown. Just two working girls, we’d nod and speak.

She was magnificent. Very tall – probably 6’4” – but wearing giant platform, thigh-high leather lace-up boots. And she had a very short black leather miniskirt, and a fluffy black fur jacket. All of this topped with a magnificent mane of black hair teased very high and swept back, too much exquisite makeup and rhinestone eyelashes. She walked with two black Doberman pinschers.

Obviously a sartorial jackpot – but in a good way, and the stuff of dreaming whores everywhere.