Alright Y’all,

Here’s the rest of the story or the story that should have been the story from my whole “Waspy guilt atonement” post. Do you see how I get off the subject?


To recap: We’re looking down the barrel of another anniversary. The mother-in-law got us a chef.


I haven’t purchased Greg a darn thing because I don’t know what to get him…he has everything a man could want, right?

WRONG!

Greg gave me the gift that keeps on giving. No, not herpes and nope I’m not pregnant. He got me stripper classes! Yep yours truly is training to be a stripper. To think, all of those etiquette classes…all those balls and private schools my parents paid for are flushed down the proverbial toilet all to pacify my husbands’ desire for a stripper-rific wife.


Now some of you may think this is a crass and certainly unfit as an anniversary gift. Some may think I’ll walk into the studio with a general feeling of befuddlement tinged with resentment. Nope, not me, I’ve embraced my ecdysiast future because here’s the thing:


The fact that I’ve been married for so long and my husband still loves me enough to want me to dance for him excites the hell out of me. If you’re on my MySpace page, you have seen the photos from Greg’s stag week in Berlin. This guy has never enjoyed strip clubs! He spent most of the week on the phone with me, which was captured in one of the photos. It’s his stag week people! The week to go wild with his mates…get drunk….get jiggy! To da windows, to da walls…’til the sweat drops down his balls! Right…right!?

Wrong.

There again Waspy guilt steps in, turns the wine back to water and ushers everyone home safely. You see, from birth a WASP is taught that strippers are, for the lack of a better word, gross. I can only imagine this is done to prevent ‘bad blood’ from diluting the family’s pure Mayflower-ness (yes, my mother-in-law belongs to The DAR).


So, if my man wants to defy the DAR or whatever WASPy shaman-guru-god they atone to and make his loving wife into a big ol’ hoe bag then color me there! Bring on the baby oil and lucite shoes…I got a man to please.