If asked what I thought of, ahem, “dancers” an image of a chick throwing a chair on Jerry Springer would come to mind. My closet trash TV lovers know what I’m talking about: those women who come onstage yelling, tatted up from the rootie to the tootie who would willingly oblige when the audience begin to chant “On the Pole, On the Pole!”
After class we all laughed and giggled, trying out the moves we learned. Some of the ladies who were at first timid worked the pole, one even perfecting a smooth “fireman.”
After the soreness wore off, I found myself walking a lot straighter and humming “Hey Big Spender.” Therapy for The Teen aside, I will be back for another class.