Dottie

So last night in New Orleans, I was wandering around 

the Marigny, over East of the Quarter, waiting for the 

doors to open at the Healing Arts Center, where I would 

later see my friends in Rising Appalachia, and jam a little 

with them on Trumpet. 

I decided to pick a corner dive bar and find me a spot to 

have a pre-show cocktail, and take a minute to collect myself. 

I chose a gay/hipster/anything goes kind of place called 

"Big Daddy's" (not to be confused with the strip club by that 

name over on Bourbon St.). I chose it because I heard a 

piano player from the street. 

Inside, there were a few crusty locals at the bar, one old blind 

lady on piano with her husband playing ghostly electric guitar, 

and one little square table with four very enthusiastic women 

just eating up everything the little blind lady did. This was not 

a tourist bar, and it was obvious that the four women, each in 

their mid-forties, were from out of town. The blind lady was 

playing a host of New Orleans classics between requests for 

songs like "Brown-Eyed Girl" from the four ladies. 

All was well and my cocktail was going down smooth, when 

Dottie entered the bar. Dottie was blonde, and holding on to 

her forties for dear life. She wore her existence as a flamboyant 

life-loving New Orleanian proudly in every little wrinkle on her face. 

Her figure was still really nice, though. She might not have been in 

mint condition, but she could still turn a head or two when need be. 

She and her city had that in common. 

Well Dottie just lit the place up. She danced around, called the 

barkeep and regulars by name, and kissed the blind piano player 

on the cheek. Then she grabbed those four tourists up, and before 

you knew it all five girls were spinning and clicking and clacking all 

over the dingy concrete floor. Soon they were all in ecstasy, heads 

thrown back in laughter, bodies twirling and whirling. Dottie went 

outside and came back dancing with a decorated party umbrella, 

a New Orleans thing that I know she did for the benefit 

of those four gals. 

So then Dottie took a breather, and sat at the bar. She called over 

to the four, and for the benefit of the entire room, she said "say, 

where y'all from?"

"Nevada!", said one of the ladies. 

"Indiana!", said another. 

"Idaho!", said the third.

"New Hampshire!", answered the fourth. 

"Well", said Dottie, "welcome to the real world!"