You may not know who Chrissy Amphlett or the Divinyls are, but if you’re anywhere near 40, at some point you’ve probably found yourself singing “When I think about you I touch myself…” in a public place or maybe at a picnic surrounded by your parents and kids and thought: “OH MY GOD WHAT AM I SINGING?”
I Touch Myself is a catchy tune. So catchy it sort of sneaks up on you that you’re crooning about masturbation in front of strangers.
It’s tragic that anyone as young as 53 would die, even if I do have one eensy-weensy problem with Chrissy Amphlett and the Divinyls:
Chrissy Amphlett is to blame for one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
I was in college, hanging out at some little dance club in Stone Harbor New Jersey with a friend and probably thinking I was pretty cool because I was
a.) barely 21
and
b.) drunk
Which are really all the things you need to think you’re the most amazing creature on the planet.
Chrissy Amphlett and the Divinyls’ ode to the solitary rumba came on, and my friend and I began to dance even though we weren’t on the dance floor, but rather sort of leaning against the bar (probably to keep from falling over.) Like I said, I Touch Myself is a catchy tune, so dancing to it, even unofficially, isn’t really all that embarrassing.
It wasn’t until maybe two weeks later when the memory of dancing to the Dininyls came back to me in the middle of the night and I sat straight up in bed screaming “NOOOOooooo…!”
As if watching myself from above, I relived how I had oh-so-sexily pantomimed to I Touch Myself, running my hands down my hips and shaking my booty. Imagine Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday Mr. President after downing a bottle of muscle relaxers and donning a jeans skirt.
So sexy. So proud.
So, wherever you are, Chrissy Amphlett, I am sorry to hear about your untimely death to breast cancer. I’m going to make a donation to Susan G. Komen for the Cure in your memory, because thanks to you and the Divinyls I never danced in public like that again.
At least I don’t think I did.