Dressing up and acting out for ‘Let’s Make a Deal’: We’re EXCITED!

You be a slice of bacon. I’ll be a banana.

We’ll ask some friends to come along. One can be peanut butter. One can be jelly.

Or maybe that’s too much food? Maybe someone we know has a lion suit?

Why should we let the tourists win all the grand-prize cars? The luxury trips to Aruba? The Sea-Doos? The patio furniture?

Let’s dress up and head to Hollywood. Let’s fight for our piece of the pie.

With summer on its way out, this is prime time for us locals. Tourists are scarce, but still — four days a week — “Let’s Make a Deal” needs an audience.

So let’s snag our free tickets online and show up early at Sunset Bronson Studios.

As soon as we arrive on the sidewalk outside, let’s jump up and down and dance.

This isn’t “Jeopardy!” There’ll be no test to qualify.

It’s not “The Price is Right.” To win a fridge, we won’t have to guess how much it costs.

PHOTOS: Evolution of Disney Hall

No knowledge required, but we will need to be on — eyes shining, toes tapping, never just saying, always EXCLAIMING!

So let’s come ready to shake our hips, to out-enthuse the milk carton, the sexy Red Riding Hood, Santa Claus.

Let’s never stop grinning, because the whole time we’re there, they’ll be watching — the contestant coordinators who’ll greet us, the producers who’ll remain out of view but monitor us on video screens.

When they ask our names and what we do for a living, let’s answer as if we’re cheerleaders belting out to the back bleachers.

Want to make a deal? YES, WE DO!

Host Wayne Brady, the modern-day Monty Hall, can’t choose all 200 people in the audience to play.

So as we wait in an air-conditioned holding tent, the show’s crew will tell us how to up our odds.

For starters, they’ll be clear about whom Wayne isn’t going to pick:

The ones who stand still when everyone’s dancing because they’re shy or they’re too cool for school. The ladies who really came to the show to flirt with Wayne and secretly hope he’ll ask them out.

No introverts. No nuts. No gum chewers — not on camera.

And if we do get chosen, they’ll plead, assume “an attitude of gratitude.”

We should act like little kids opening presents on Christmas morning. Even if the hot tub we walk away with won’t fit in our studio apartment. Even if we never wanted a new bedroom set, and what we really are after is cash.

After all this, we’ll still have time to kill before the show begins taping.

We can pose for commemorative photos. We can tweak or change our costumes. There’s a stall right there in the tent that rents and sells them, which could make all the difference.

What if we spot another bacon in the crowd? After all, bacon’s trendy right now. To stand out, would you consider converting to a Scotsman in a kilt? Peter Pan? An alpine yodeler in lederhosen?

We can eat while we wait too. There are snacks. There’s a food truck. But be warned: no bathrooms, just Porta Potties.

Then at last the moment will come when we’ll be ushered onto the set, where music will be blasting and a lot of people will be dancing and cameras will be gliding across a polished floor in front of curtains No. 1, 2 and 3.

If we get a chance, will we ask to see what’s behind a curtain? Or will we choose instead to find outside what’s in a little box or flip a card or take the money Wayne says he has in his pocket?

Will we win something big — a motorcycle, Bali for two? Or will we end up getting zonked with a dented jalopy belching steam?

But first things first. Before anything else can happen, we’ll need to get noticed.

Because you’re bacon, you’ll sizzle. Me? I’ll start to peel.

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nita.lelyveld@latimes.com

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