Open the Jagged Pink Door

You ignore the hapless woman, who ceases her struggles with a dejected sigh, and you move closer to the pink door. A familiar melody can be heard softly on the other side, but you can't quite place it.

When you pass through the door, you find yourself instantaneously in the center of a creaking wooden stage. An audience grunts and hoots. You strain to make out their shapes, but the stage lights are uncomfortably hot and bright and the space beyond is far too dark.

An impish figure, gnawing on a thick cigar stares at you expectantly just off stage.

Looking down, you realize with horror that you're dressed in dazzling white lingerie: flowery lace panties and a bustier, lace stockings and garters, long silky gloves and a pair of glossy white stilettoes! You hold over-sized, white feathery fans in either hand. Now you recognize the song, it's "The Stripper!"

You glow red with embarrassment while the faceless crowd growls and whistles. They're obviously expecting a show, but you're no dancer. You could try to escape backstage, but that cigar-puffing imp doesn't look like a pushover, and you've never tried to run in heels before ...