(The names of the innocent have been changed to protect the guilty)

I, like every other drag queen for 100 miles, had been invited to celebrate Ma Soap’s ‘40th’. One look at the old girl and you knew it certainly wasn’t her birthday, well not her 40th anyway, as I’d been to 5 of these and Vanilla Fudgecake said she’d been to at least ten before me. Anywho, we trudged along to pay homage and to celebrate her 40th ‘birthday’ with bottles of vodka, champagne and wine. Even though only lasagne and wine were actually served, you would be heading for a serious tongue lashing if you arrived baring store own-brand bottles, she insisted on only branded goodies at her dos.
I arrived a little earlier than the others and was greeted at the door by a very dishevelled Ma wearing an apron covered in blood. At first I thought she must have had her worst period ever but thankfully she said that the minced meat for the lasagne tried to fight back as she removed it from her fridge. Quite possibly the half drunk bottle of Smirnoff hiding among her sauces and condiments might have had something to do with it but you never could tell with Ma, she was the same drunk or sober.

There were about 50 of us gals, dragged up to the nines, giggling, screeching and gossiping about anyone who left our little clique and joined another. We knew that they’d be telling tales about us so, well, all’s fair etc etc. It was fun initiating a couple of the new recruits who always seemed to be attracted to Ma’s apron strings and who were looking to her for guidance, which I have to say, Ma was very good at. She may pinch half your act if you were good but rarely did she turn away any budding talent.

Anywho, after several glasses of Chablis and a couple of large tumblers full of Absolut, the party, which Ma Soap insisted used to be a refined affair of tea and cakes back in the day, had developed into… showtime. Sorry ‘SHOWTIME’.  The karaoke machine was cranked up, Ma introduced us all as we got up to belt out our favourite song and she ended the whole affair with a heart wrenching version of  ‘Where Is My Man?’

Her performance was spectacular and we were all in tears until there was a knock on the door and in walked Fez. Yup, the Fez – supermodel and hunk delish, who could rival David Beckham for charm and good looks (many said he was better looking cos he was 15 years younger than the sporting god). However, he smiled genteelly around the room at the swooning hoards and kissed Ma firmly on the mouth. He whispered something in her ear. She smiled, told everyone to ‘fuck off’ as she had someone…erm…something better to do. With that, as she made her way upstairs with Fez in tow, we all gathered our feather boas and made a noisy drunken exit. That is, except of Renee, she was left so that she could listen in and report on the goings on. Just so we knew that Ma would be OK you understand.

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