Mama, I’m a Big Girl Now!
“Once upon a time I was a shy young thing
Could barely walk and talk, so much as dance and sing
But let me hit that stage, I wanna take my bow
‘Cause mama, I’m a big girl now.”
We did it for charity, Mama! Signature Theater needed our support, Mama! No one can say “no” to Eric Schaeffer! He’s a freakin’ Tony-winner, Mama!
Signature Theatre’s Big Hair Ball last Saturday celebrated Hairspray the musical and raised money for Signature, the theater. When coffers dwindle, you can count on coiffeurs to lift the spirits (not to mention the eyebrows of other unsuspecting arts patrons). Yes, we did it for art. We are a selfless lot in a lot of tulle. And besides, Milton Berle did it. Don’t go all J. Edgar’s mama on us!
What a night for 1200+ lbs of drag queen—all draped in jungle red. Ladies and gentlemen I give you: The Crabbe Sisters. Getting these seven sinful sisters ready ain’t easy and the back story about girding our backsides whilst noshing on pizza and guzzling Hendricks gin is almost as precious as our appearance—and nearly as thrilling as our pageant victory in the group competition.
Here’s how we became legends in our own minds. Two of the Crabbe Sisters are patrons of the performing arts—Signature, specifically. The two of them decided to call all the willing Baltimore cross dressing crabs they could find to support Signature’s theme. Ready willing and able were the Crabbe Sisters. One of them ordered the wigs from a website in Vegas—a blonde Anne Miller model named “the Edna” and soon thereafter seven Ednas were en route to D.C. And what a purveyor of bouffant we found. These wigs weren’t just teased—they were tormented and sprayed within an inch of their lives. And trust me, when it comes to wigs, what happens in Vegas, gets sprayed in Vegas. Then that “hairdo that’s higher, mine feels like barbed wire” gets shipped in seven 2’ by 2’ boxes to us loose women at the Delta Felta Guy sorority house in D.C.
From the Shell Shop in Rehoboth came dozens of plastic crabs of every shape and size. Bobbie took her glue-gun-gone- wild to attach jewels to, then sprinkle the crustaceans about, our hair and cleavage. I immediately set out to accomplish the single most important drag fashion function: Bird seed boobs. For years, I’d tried sweat socks and water balloons—one’s itchy, the other drippy. I learned about birdseed from a friend a decade ago and have had pouty and perky bosoms ever since.
But now, I’ve got a family to take care of: Let’s see, 1.5 cups per boob times seven sisters equals fourteen boobs—that’s 21 cups of birdseed in 14 socks. The problem was that the smallest quantity the hardware store sells this magical seed is in a 20 lb sack. Thus I had enough to provide for all seven of us, Edna/Tracey Turnblad, Victor/Victoria, Mrs. Doubtfire, Tootsie, the entire cast of La Cage, Tippy Hedren, and all the birds.
We planned to congregate, dress and accessorize at the biggest loft in our building. Defying that immortal warning “Don’t Drink and Dress”—we sipped and twirled our way through the cocktail hour. The makeup was lined up on a counter top the size of an aircraft landing strip. The boobies were on a cookie sheet. The wigs arrived on a hotel bell cart—our boxes sky high. It was a portent of the night ahead. One Crabbe sister is a trained makeup artist. Love her!
The entry: 8:15 p.m. As you can see, one sister had glue-gunned enough tulle to her QVC gown to drape Baltimore and Dundalk. The group entry went flawlessly until, marching in single file/bunny hop style, I mistakenly stepped on an outer corner of the acreage she left in her wake, and when her head spun around, she was Regan from The Exorcist. The Crabbes Lindy Hopped, Jitterbugged and Madisoned ourselves into a stupor. Forget the 14 fake boobs cleverly still hoisted up under our collective Adams Apples. Look south at 14 excruciating feet. But we did it for art.
All Hairspray fans know that screwing the judges is a tradition. But we had way too many foundation garments on, and birdseed worries, so we just bought the big guy, Eric Schaeffer, a drink. And when he heard how absolutely giddy we were about the bona fide Signature Tony Award steps away in the foyer, he went over and whipped it out and posed with it!
Then, the moment came: The Big Hair Ball awards: no sooner had the emcee Corny Collins read “the Crabbe Sisters!” did we all jump like Tri Delts who won the Panhellenic Hootenany. And while we jumped straight up and down, “Sister Tulle” bent horizontal and had the glittering tiara placed on her head like Audrey Hepburn—only with crow’s feet and swollen ankles.
So, when the music stopped, there she was with a half dozen hot fat Crabbes staring at her bejeweled if a bit receding hairline. She demurred, “Well, someone had to do it.”
Amazing what damage 12 stilettos can do to a tulle train.
Brent Mundt resides in Washington, DC, but lives in Rehoboth Beach.