So then…I click the blinker, just as my daughter Chloe, age 15, says, “You remember how you taught me to shave my legs – the calves and thighs?”
I turn the steering wheel right, continue up the hill, and answer, “Yeah.”
“Well, my friends Maggie and Layla just shave from the knees down. They say only strippers shave their thighs.”
My eyes pop. Really?
I’ve always shaved my thighs.
Am I secretly a stripper?
Maybe I have that sleepwalking disease where I don’t even know that I’m waking in the middle of the night to go shake my tatas at the local strip club.
If so, where’s all that cash I should be making?
Maybe I’m not a very good stripper.
Maybe I’m shakin’ mah groove thing and people are all like, “Yeah, um, nice thighs…but uh, the rest is…well…do you have a robe or something?”
Damn bastards! How dare they? I’m up there, sweatin’ my ass off, trying to please the masses, twerkin’ like there’s no tomorrow – and they don’t even APPRECIATE it?
I “tsk” loudly and shake my head in disgust.
“Mom?” asks Chloe.
“The thighs?” she says.
“Oh, yeah, right. Well, I thought everybody shaved their thighs. What about when they wear shorts?”
“Nope,” she says.
“So it’s just smooth from the knee down and all hairy on the thighs? Doesn’t that look odd?” I ask.
“Well, their hair’s pretty light so you can’t really tell,” Chloe says.
(They’re lucky! I knew a girl in high school whose hair was so dark, she even shaved her arms. Oh! And a girl I worked with in New York shaved her arms and waxed her upper lip and eyebrow area and “sideburns!” When I asked if all that was really necessary, she said, “Honey, I’m Armenian. My entire life is devoted to hair removal!”)
I turn to Chloe. “Well, of course it’s fine – they can shave just the calves – whatever they want to do. But did they really say only strippers shave their thighs?”
“Yes!” she says. “They can’t believe you told me to do that!” She snickers. “You’re raising a stripper, Mom!”
“Good grief! It’s just the thighs. It’s not like I suggested shaving the hooha!”
“Omigod, Mom!” she corrects me. “Don’t say ‘hooha!’ It’s ‘Vagina.’”
“HooHa-Hooray?” I ask innocently.
“Vagina!” she says.
“Vajayjay?” I ask sweetly.
“VAGINA!” she shouts.
(It’s possible she’s more mature than I.)
She goes back to her Iphone.
I continue driving, while also silently brainstorming ideas for strip clubs that might welcome dancers like me and my friends…
MILFs R Us?
Hot Chicks & Hot Flashes?
PTA Pole Dancers?
Book Club Burlesque?
The Saggy Strippers? That’s a good one.
Are you interested in trippin’ the light fantastic – and shakin’ what yer mama gave ya?
Swing on by Darcy’s Dollhouse to submit an application. All thigh-shavers welcome.
‘Fess up, ladies! Do you shave just from the knee down – or are you shavin’ the thighs too?
If yes on the thighs, are you a stripper? If so, can you get me a job at your club?
Can I wear Spanx and support hose? Are slippers allowed?
Can I check Facebook while I’m dancing?
Can you play NetFlix on the monitors so I can be entertained while I’m entertaining?
Do you serve snacks? What’s the 401K like?
Look, strippers, just private message me and we’ll work out all the details.
And I only take crisp new hundreds. None of this wrinkly one dollar bill crap.
If Mama’s gonna bust out the Dougie and the Cabbage Patch, with body parts swingin’ in all directions — Mama’s gotta get PAID.
— Darcy Perdu
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