Who needs Vegas?

Yesterday while floating in the pool (before a child pooped in it and closed it for the rest of the day), a few of us were talking about dollar bills and the chat turned to male strippers.  I chuckled recalling my favorite stripper story, so I decided to share it with you today.

Many years ago, it was a big occasion in Ceciltucky when the male strippers came to Port Deposit.  They had been booted from Perryville and were homeless before the PD VFW offered the show a venue.  It was a big event - lots of food and all the beer you could drink.  Remember that beer detail, as it plays a big part in the events of the night.

Cheryl, Cindy, and I arrived hours before the show began because we wanted front row seats.  We came armed with board games (these were the days before smart phones) and books to pass the time.  The weather was iffy, and threats of a huge snowstorm kept a potentially huge audience at bay.

When the time arrived to start the event, the food was plentiful and lots and lots of beer was imbibed.  Lots of beer.  More beer than I could even contemplate drinking these days.  The men danced.  And stripped. And stripped - down to string bikinis.  Oh my!  We each had a favorite dancer and being in the front row, we were pulled on stage to dance with the guys. We kept our clothes on, thank you very much.

It began to snow.  Heavily.  Some of the women left.  We just drank more beer and the strippers had to work all that much harder to make an honest night's wage.

There was lots of money to be had.

At some point in the evening, the media was admitted to the VFW in order to report the story.  When warned of their presence, many of the women scurried to the bathroom.  Others hid their faces.  But not me!!!  Oh no!  I had beer power!  In front of the cameras, I hooted and hollered and waved a fistful of dollar bills.  The cameraman loved me.

Eventually, the fun had to end.  They ran out of beer.  We ran out of dollar bills.  The snow was treacherously covering the back roads.  We said goodbye to our newly purchased buddies.  And I sloppily said goodbye to my former students who had been just as surprised to see me as I had been to see them. We promised each other that what happened in Port stayed in Port. (For the record, I was not driving as a mini-blizzard had covered the roads and I was beyond buzzed.)

Picture this.  The middle school.  Monday morning.  Homeroom.  A student says, "Ms. S.  My dad was watching the news Friday night.  He told me you were on it!"   I had previously prided myself on not lying to my students, but you can bet I told him that he must have seen somebody who looked like me.  He believed me.  Because we all know teachers have no life outside of the classroom.