Opening Monologue – Tits Up
So.
Here we are.
If you’re wondering about the title—yes. It’s literal. It’s metaphorical. It’s historical. And at a
certain age, it’s also aspirational.
I’m the Fairy Bra Mother of Broadway.
That means I’ve spent fifty years lifting, hoisting, engineering hope out of elastic and wire for
people who sing eight shows a week and call it “living the dream.”
I’ve held things up for a living. Things that did not want to be held.
Backstage, we say “tits up” when something’s gone wrong, a missed cue, Ba broken zipper. a
Career detour. Life.
But sailors say it when the ship goes down.
And women say it when gravity finally wins.
This is a one-woman show, which means there’s no one to blame but me.
No understudy. No corset. No place to hide.
Just a body that has lived.
And a voice that’s done whispering.
I came of age in a world that told women to stay upright, stay useful, stay quiet. To keep
everything supported- our families, men, institutions, illusions, even as we disappeared inside
that mandate.
But here’s the thing no one tells you: when everything finally goes tits up, you get your hands
back.
This is not a nostalgia piece.
This is not a cautionary tale.
This is a reclamation project.
So welcome.
Sit back. Breathe.
If anything falls, I promise, it’s supposed to.
