What a drag

I have found the cure to ongoing tension and fighting with my little sis, Mindi.

Scrambled eggs, sushi rolls and most of all sassy drag queen performances.

Mindi and I spent almost three hours at Perry’s this morning, where every Sunday a pack of drag queens perform to hungry, eager, outgoing brunch patrons as they sip on Mimosas and Bloody Marys. And, to put it simply (and probably ridiculously) it did two sisters good. This was the second time we have experienced a Perry’s Sunday. And just like last time it was a lovefest.

Literally up until walking into Perry’s we were at each other’s throats or silently angry with each other. Then we stepped in and the energy changed. I’m not kidding. You simply can’t be mad while stuffing a dollar bill down a drag queen’s bra. It’s physically impossible. As we sat at the bar, the sun peaked its head out of the clouds overpowering the snow that had fallen earlier.

“Thank god. The sun is coming out,” I said, doing my best Annie impression.

“Sweetie, you know why, don’t you?” a girl sitting beside me chirped back. “It’s the drag queens.”

I could not agree more.

There’s just something about seeing these untraditional ladies strut their stuff and stroke the uncomfortable few straight men onhand that equates with joy. Our favorite, Gigi, has the thickest figure of the drag queens (not that she is not fabulous in her very individual way) and tends to wear the least clothing. Pasties just barely covering her nippes. Small silver skirts over her bootie and showcasing a lower back butterfly tattoo. Oh honey! Her routines are of the Britney Spears variety. Fun, flirty pop.

Then there’s the eldest drag queen, the mother hen who also serves as MC and mouthes ditties like “Fever.” Her mission is to get as many audience members as possible to say “Big black dick” into a mike, to embarrass the reluctant birthday girls and to make inappropriate cracks about Jesus and Barack Obama. Today she was very successful.

Mindi and I left Perry’s full of yummy food and with smiling mugs. Then I accidentally brushed my sister’s leg with my pocketbook as we walked down Calvert, and we were back to our normal reality of bickering.

Drag queens, why can’t you be around forever?

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