Dear Bitches,
In 1982 Olivia Newton John started a revolution when she sang ‘Let’s get physical. Come on, let me hear your body talk’. Six years ago we decided to see how many Wellingtonians wanted to make their bodies talk, and you, the bitches, responded.
You didn’t just want to make your bodies talk; you wanted to make them holler.
And I want to say thank you
Thank you for giving up the last 312 Saturday afternoons to dance around to 80’s pop with me.
Being part of the bitches has been a huge honour. For me being a Real Hot Bitch means I am part of a great group of people who are always ready to tell me how real, hot and bitchin my arse looks in lycra. Words can’t describe that. But this does….
Being bitches we have had the opportunity to break world records, performing at Bats and Downstage, in people’s lounges, at the Big Day Out, and win the May Day cup.
We have been able to imagine ourselves superstars. It has given us an excuse to make up dances to our favourite songs, justify buying Viking helmets and crazy wigs, and encouraged us to stop at every opshop in the lower North Island. It means we own highlighter yellow eyeshadow and have flase eyelash collections that drag queens covert. It means we are part of an amazing group of men and women who know how to laugh. Hard.
That is real, it’s hot and oh so bitchin.
Finally before I drag run outta I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all the people who have helped us get to this point, Jane, Gem, Emma, Gabe, Andy, Chrisana, Zelda, Emily, Nicki and Jo, you bitches have gone above and beyond and help herd the cats.
To my little sister Charlotte, I have had the time of my life and I owe it all to you. 
Thank you.
But most especially I want to thank all of you, the Real Hot Bitches, Wellington’s finest dance troupe, who have made one of my dreams become a lycra clad reality.
Keep dancing like everyone is watching.
Bitch out.
Candy xx
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