Solo

My gym sells various things such as "power" drinks, t-shirts, earphones, and feather boas.

Yes, feather boas.

I though this was strange and asked the counter clerk what the feather boas were for. It turns out that my gym offers a "cardio strip" class and the boas are used for props. This class reportedly offers a fun way for women to sweat off the pounds. Of course, the women in the class were either north of their 50's or pushing two bills. So the class is full of aged, portly women pretending to be in a burlesque show.

Having seen a bit of this class, words cannot express the disappointment suffered by the men in these women's lives if they apply those moves at home.

Clearly, no one who participates in or runs this class knows anything about strip clubs, at least not those that have been in existence since prohibition was repealed. I've been to my fair share of Gentleman's Clubs, purely for sociological purposes of course, and while I've seen many things in these clubs, feather boas are not one of them.

Whatever you want to call them, these clubs emphasize the "strip" and minimize the "tease." You generally won't see feather boas, peacock fans, or any type of choreographed routine.

The women in the class must think that the stripper experience is exotic. It isn't. They probably think that dancers are beautiful or in good shape. Not always. In fact, the only thing that makes a woman qualified to be a stripper is the willingness to take off her clothes in public.

These are the things that you are far more likely to see on a stripper than a feather boa:

1. Caesarian scars.
2. Razor bumps.
3. Six inch stiletto heels.
4. Exit wounds.
5. 7 to 12 tattoos.
   

My college roommate eventually became a police officer. As an undocumented perk, he could get in clubs for free because, while police couldn't moonlight as security, the owners encouraged the presence of off-duty cops. So when we hung out, it was either there or the donut shop. Basically, we went so often that I think I'm only I about four credits short of getting my M.D. in Gynecology

It eventually got old. But I had my "scared straight" moment about seven years ago. I was in Brownsville, TX for work and across the highway was the best gentleman's establishment that I'd ever been to. Beautiful women, not too smoky, nicely decorated, no cover, and inexpensive lap dances.

Everything was going well until one dancer approached for a dance. I agreed. She started the dance and top off her top revealing one breast. I don't mean that she only showed one breast, I mean she only had one breast. On the other side was something that resembled a deployed airbag with scar tissue.

Needless to say, I wasn't expecting this. Her top must have been padded. But what was I to do? I didn't want to offend her, but it was freaking me out. Every time, she leaned in, I flinched. I couldn't look at her. I just wanted the song to be over before I started crying. I blame the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Someone should have warned me. She could have least taken "Solo" as her stage name. Or I should have at least got half of my money back.

I don't ask for much but an even number of breasts should be a given.