“All the men come in these plaaaces,” Melissa sang, as she drunkenly danced around her sitting room, “And the men are all the same”.
In the background, Tina Turner’s raspy, sensual voice was wailing out the lyrics of Private Dancer, her bleak 1984 hit, about prostitution.
“You don’t look at their faaaa-ces and you don’t ask their names,” she howled, while thinking ‘I bet that’s so true’.
“You don’t think of them as huuuman,” she continued, “you don’t think of them at all.”
“Pigs!” she thought, “but I bet if I absolutely had to…I’d make a really hot escort!”
Suddenly she began to wonder why so many Irish women’s favourite song was about the broken dreams of a prostitute.
As she poured another one, she reflected on how Turner’s downbeat tale of prostitution and defeat, had somehow replaced Gloria Gaynor’s upbeat female empowerment-anthem, I Will Survive.
“Jesus, that’s what lockdown does to your head,” she thought as she sipped, “stops a nice girl from enjoying a perfectly good ‘escort’ fantasy”.