I shall refrain from recounting all the things that have made 2020 a year to forget. I’ll merely note that I have not heard one single person say they won’t be glad to see 2020 go—including moi.
I took a poll (which is quite different from taking a pole) of The Balcoñeros, formerly known as “Balcony Dwellers,” regarding how things might change for the better in 2021. (BTW, I cannot take credit for the term “Balcoñeros.” That honor belongs to The Untouchable Man. He’s an elocutional sniper: doesn’t make a lot of noise, but knows exactly when, where, and how to take his shots.)
The Knights of the Long Table are legitimately able to pat each other on their backs for having made seismic changes in the ways they serve upstairs. The barrenness of the bar is something they have high hopes will be in their rearview mirror in 2021.
Shawty, Babe at Law, is sick and tired of all the PPE. 2021 needs to allow her the freedom from having to wrap her briefs in hermetically-sealed containers. I joked, “It’s better than getting your briefs in a wad, ain’t it?” I never knew she could impale my left foot through my snakeskin cowboy boot to The Balcony with her eight-inch spiked heels so fast. I’m guessing the state of her briefs produces some level of chaffing discomfort.
Sparkles has gone all survivalist on us. She started collecting camping gear in 2020 and touched her toe into the Lewis & Clark lifestyle. Then she got COVID. Fortunately she was too mean for the virus and it left with its tail tucked between its legs. Now she’s back in the woods and on the creeks, hoping to be declared an endangered species in 2021.
The Two Blondes on the Balcony, Farrin Hite and Celcie Us, aka the Amazon Woman and Dickie P., made the breast…er…best of 2020 by developing, with the eager and prurient assistance of other Balcoñeros, the plan for their new business, PP, LLC. They have reached purr-felinection on paper and are poised on their haunches, prepared to pounce in 2021. (I’m prohibited from revealing the exact nature of PP, LLC, but I can tell you that those rent-to-own businesses are gonna be choking on fur balls!)
My good friend Leon J. Walker, an inciteful man, has had a semi-jaded year. He wants to return to full-on jadedness in 2021. Leon’s main squeeze, No Account Addie, has been dissuaded by COVID from gracing us with her physical presence. We Balcoñeros miss her and the fluttering of her beautiful eyes. Come back to The Balcony, No Account Addie!
Speaking of fluttering, Madame Butterfly has ventured out from time-to-time. She is eager for a return to separate tables on The Balcony so she can flit with abandon and toss out her undying inquiry, “And just who are yore people?”
Mr. Thoreau, The Velvet Bitch, got a brass plate with his name on the upstairs bar. He computed the price he’s paid for it over the years. It’s in the thousands of dollars. Money well spent, I say.
When asked what he’d like to see in the rearview mirror in 2021, The Sheik said, “I’ll remind you morons that hiney-sight is 50/50, so I’m looking ahead. In 2021 I’m gonna become a playuh.”
Seeing the quizzical looks on our faces he said, “You know—a player.”
Shawty pulled out a file and started sharpening her spiked heels. “I see these are gonna get a lot of use next year.” She turned to The Sheik and said, “You better hope I get to unwrap my briefs in 2021. Otherwise you might want to ask Santa to bring you some steel-toed boots!”
The Sheik swallowed hard and zipped his lips.
“Since you’re looking forward,” I said to The Sheik, “I’m gonna say what I hope for in 2021.”
Knowing I was about to engage in legendary sagery, the Balcoñeros leaned in. I lifted my glass of vodka. The Balcoñeros followed suit.
“To the return of Drop-Top Tallulah!” I toasted.
“To the return of Drop-Top Tallulah!” they enthusiastically repeated.
We clinked our glasses, laughed heartily, and returned to our reverie—not that we’d ever left it.
Happiness is 2020 in the rearview mirror. (Tip o’ the hat to the late Mac Davis.)
Have a great holiday season, y’all!
…and that’s the view from The Balcony.
