I believe in a subtle feminity and so needed the help of my most feminine friends to advise me on Mona Lott’s dress code – i.e. cleavage, g-string fabric, garter belt adjustment, earrings… and Mona’s manner – lip pursing, eyelash batting, pole dancing, side glances, knock knee walk. Despite hours of practice and three Wednesday nights of performance, Mona has yet to be born. She is still just me with a padded bra and a wig. Sadly, the Mona that I have thus far evoked is pathetic, downtrodden and a real downer. Breathless with despair, my Mona cannot be heard in the balcony. My Mona is not nightclub material. Her soul is conclave and ravaged. Her passions suppressed. She may do well in films, but she’ll need a human hair wig and lip injections. Meanwhile, she’ll pop up once in a while at the Sidebar, but only for ballads. I will be searching for her replacement. Thank you for your patience in this matter.