The Indian Warrior is a pole dancing move wherein you hurl your body around the pole using your leg as an anchor and follow through with your body's natural swing as you hold onto the pole with one hand......piece of cake, right? Actually, out of all the moves our little sexpot instructor tried to teach us--this was the only one we could sort of do. Kind of. O.K.....we were just plum terrible.....
I was really working hard, sweating my ass off, and trying to channel my inner stripper.......and she was nowhere to be found. I was about to attempt this move for the 65th time when I heard a blood curdling scream punctuated with f bombs.....turning towards the noise, I saw my sister-in-law heaped in a pile on the floor...."Oh my God!" She screamed, "I just hit my pelvis so hard on this effing pole!" As she rolled around in the fetal position, I wiped the sweat from my brow and ran to help her up.
Weak and hobbled, we decided to take a much needed champagne break. As we plowed through the bubbly and surveyed our bodily damage, it became apparent that we were never going to be true performers. We were 40-year-old women who didn't have the same elasticity and flexible vigor we once had in our twenties. We felt like old dogs trying to learn new tricks.
As I turned to look at myself in the mirror, flashing a smile and a wink, I fixed my birthday tiara and matching boa......wanting to be the best I could be and feel SEXY @ 40! I imagined myself spinning on that pole, dressed in some hot outfit, the crowd going crazy with adoration and amazement....throwing gobs of money at me......WOW! I was really getting lost in thought....feeling so carefree and empowered.....then it all came to a screeching halt.
My daydream was cut short by a little voice and finger poking me on my shoulder, "Ma'am, here are the band aids you requested for your feet." My 15 seconds of exotic dancing fame had ended and I had nothing to show for it but blisters.....and a $1 bill my best friend tipped me......only because I begged for it.
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