Nothing Says Sexy Like a Sprained Knee

A friend of mine threw herself a super fun birthday party Saturday night.  Plans were to attend a Pole Dancing Class as a group then head over to BRC for dinner. Never afraid to shake my money maker and having enjoyed being a spectator while many a professional twirled her way around the pole for the money, I figured this activity was right up my alley and I arranged a hall pass to attend.  Lucky for me, my baby daddy was fully supportive of my desires to stretch my stripper wings and agreed to stay home with the younger while the older stayed the night at my mothers.  Let the slutty games begin!

You could tell everyone was a little nervous when we first started showing up and gathering in a room equipped with six poles for your dancing pleasure.  Thankfully, our host foresaw this possibility and came prepared to lubricate our nerves a bit with wine and champagne.  I jumped on that and after pounding a dixie cup of liquid courage I was ready to jump on something else.  The pole awaits!

Our instructor was a rather boisterous and outgoing fellow who immediately made us feel comfortable and engaged in our lesson in lewdness.  We worked in groups of two throwing ourselves in the air spread eagle, spinning down and around to the floor, and stroking the pole like it was someone's you know what.  We laughed, we shook our heads, we gave each other stripper names like Merlot and TeXXXas.  What a fun way to celebrate your birthday and let down your inhibitions!

After a while we switched rooms for a lap dancing lesson.  I don't mean to brag or anything, but I knew going in that I didn't need to learn how to do this.  There are some things I am naturally gifted in and I believe The Man would attest to the fact that lap dancing is one of those gifts.  I was excited and confident as we arranged our chairs and started learning 8 counts from yet another super nice she-man who could hair flip like nobody's business in six inch stilettos.

At the end of the class there was a freestyle segment where we each took a turn showcasing our newfound (or natural) talents.  When I was chosen to go next, I sauntered into the center ready to show off my sluttiest skills.

It took approximately 20 seconds for me to go from Go-Go Girl to Golden Girl.

I wasn't doing anything remotely athletic or impressive.  All it involved was a simple step to the side with my right leg and a roll of the hip.  As my foot made contact with the floor I felt a sliding sensation immediately followed by fierce shooting pains and the need to recoil my leg up in agony.  I've had knee injuries before…my ligaments are slippery and stretchy and have resulted in casts, braces, and even a reconstructive surgery in my past.  I knew, and hated, that I had hurt myself.  Pretty badly.

Our affect-tacious instructor goaded me on…you're doing great!  You look good!  Shaking my head I began to limp, head hung, feeling old and decrepit and in a tremendous amount of pain, off the "stage."

I have spent the last 36 hours or so laid up, under ice, swollen, wearing a brace, needing crutches to get from room to room, feeling helpless and totally dependent, a state in which I do not function well.  I can't carry my baby or even a cup of coffee.  There is plenty of pity at my party right now.

I have a huge hunk of gratitude for my husband, who is waiting on me hand and foot and taking over all the responsibilities of the household that I can't manage.  He did all of it yesterday while suffering his own ailments, resulting from an artichoke eating binge that filled his body with more fiber than it knew what to do with, but that's a different story for a different time.

Once recovered from this hot mess I fully intend to show my gratitude with a performance of our choreographed number.  Let's hope I don't completely cross over to geriatric and throw my back out in the process.

Photo Credit Spaff, LLC.


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