To Strip or Not to Strip? I Had No Choice.

Before you get all bent out of shape and imagine that I "work hard for the money," let me just get something straight- the particular experience that involved the title of this blog only included hypothetical stripping, not the real thing. Thankfully I did not have to peel off any layers of clothing, but it was touch and go there for awhile. Let me start at the beginning.

I have a group of wonderful friends. The biggest problem we have is that we don't get to spend a lot of quality time together. So, my friend Beth who is the resident workout nut of the group (Beth, I hope you don't take offense to that title) decided that nothing would be better on a Friday night than a little female bonding through a XXX Cardio Strip class. You know, the norm for four married gals just looking to get out for the night. Beth found a fitness club downtown called Flirty Girl Fitness which is a gym that caters to racy workouts. We had our choice between the Cardio Strip class, Pole Dancing, a Video Vixen class (which I can only imagine would have us gyrating in ways my body has not even thought about attempting even in my J-Lo/ Ja Rule loving days)...you get the idea. Beth thought that the Cardio Strip class was the way to go and signed us all up. With my fee already paid on B's card, there was nothing to say but "Sure" and hope for the best. I was not disappointed.

Becky and I had a lot of misgivings about this class before leaving for it on Friday afternoon. I am not necessarily the queen of the dance floor unless I have had about ten drinks and the dance floor is in the middle of a wedding reception. Put me in a "club" and I flail like a fish out of water until some thug comes up and tries to grind on me. Then I silently weep while he figures out that I have no idea how to move my hips the way he wants them and leaves me deserted and dejected in the middle of the floor. Becky and I knew that we were going with two much more awesome dancers (believe me, I know- I've seen Beth's moves and Betty can cut a mean rug whether it be in a club, at a wedding, or in the living room). My biggest hope was that I could fade into the background and draw as little attention to myself as possible.

When we arrived at Flirty Girl, I have to say that the place was AWESOME. What other gym can you walk in to where the first thing you see is a full bar stocked with alcohol and the option of yummy smoothies? Whomever created Flirty Girl must have known that many people would not be able to attempt classes of this nature without consuming at least one or two strong drinks. We made our way into our aerobics room and it was complete with a full wall of mirrors and a disco ball. We knew we were in trouble when our instructor walked in and she was a beautiful six foot tall beanpole with legs for miles wearing booty shorts and high-heeled boots. She could do the mashed potato and guys would take off their pants for her. Sheesh.

As she started to teach us the routine, I was surprised to see that I could actually follow what she wanted us to do. There was a lot of "sexy walking" and hair flipping and hip gyrating. Here's the thing I have come to know about myself: I am never going to be a sexy dancer. When God created me, he forgot to include the synapsis that need to fire to connect my bottom half to my shoulders and arms when I dance. Usually I can get my bottom half to do what needs to be done, but the top half just kind of hangs there. And when I try to put the top half and bottom half together? It just looks like I am either having a seizure or am in toxic shock. And forget trying to look sexy. Our instructor kept encouraging us to "make eye contact with ourselves in the mirror" and "look seductive." Every time I looked at myself in the mirror my face was either screwed up in concentration or looked like I had just passed gas. The men of America should breathe a sigh of relief that I won't be gracing Big Al's stage at any point in the near future.

The culmination of the "routine" was a crazy-ass flip that started out with us on our backs and rolling over backwards-summersault-style into a "sexy crawl." This made the whole thing worth it. I vowed to myself that I was going to get the hang of this ninja-stripper-roll if it was the last thing I did. I ended up getting it and have a sore neck to prove it. I don't know how strippers do it, man. My neck is still sore, my hamstrings are still screaming from dropping it like it was hot (or, in my case, lukewarm at best), and my knees hurt from crawling around on the floor. I am a stripping failure.

Once the class was over, Betty, Beth, Becky and I headed over to the Billy Goat Tavern to process what we had just been through. We all really enjoyed the class regardless of the complaints before, sheepish looks during, and aches and pains after. The valid point that Beck made was that if we were ever to do the dance that we had just learned for our respective men, there would be some tweaking needed. Mainly because by the time you get to that killer ninja-stripper-roll, you are hypothetically supposed to be devoid of both your shirt and your skirt/pants and doing that roll in your skivvies would be both painful and unattractive. Unless you look like our instructor, in which case I GET IT.

Although Friday's class was super fun and I would totally go back to Flirty Girl for another provocative class, I don't think I will be taking my skills publicly (or even privately) any time soon. I think all parties involved will probably be happier that way. To anyone reading this, I highly recommend a Flirty Girl class- even if you feel stupid it is a good workout and a challenging undertaking. Just be prepared to ache like an eighty year old the next day and to find a new appreciation for the ladies on the main stage at a strip club near you- they do indeed work hard for the money.