"Fit Strip"

OK, I did it. 

I showed up for "Fit Strip" and met some of the "Gypsy Dance" alumni outside the door.  We all sorta figured that if we could survive "Gypsy Dance," we'd be able to do this.

Bwa ha ha ha ha.

Enter the class and we're told to get our props out of the closet.  Props?  Feather boas, maybe?

Chairs.

We each get a chair we're supposed to dance around, on, in front of, and basically give a lap dance to.  Early in the class, we're directed to "imagine someone in the chair; anyone you want."  I, of course, immediately imagine whatever movie star I'm currently crushing over -- and the look on his face when I shake my booty in his direction is enough to send me into hysterics.  I run through the mental rolodex and really can't imagine anyone who I'd like to have sitting in the chair while I'm sweating like a pig, wearing blue gym shorts and a yellow T-shirt, awkwardly trying to roll my body in his direction in a vaguely sexy manner.  (Indeed, at the end of class, she split the class in two and had each group "perform" the dance for the half.  Which was fine, except every time the audience started hooting and yelling, "Bring it, girl!" my attempt at a seductive face would be totally taken over by giggling.

The main difference between the Gypsy Dance class and this one (besides the props) was that the woman who taught the gypsy dance class had a normal body.  Meaning that when she stopped shaking her butt, some of it kept shaking.  And her revealing top didn't exactly reveal six-pack abs.  Fit Strip, on the other hand, was taught by a woman who looked like she was 19, no more than 90 pounds, and wore fishnet stockings and 3-inch spiked heels. 

Let me tell you, even if I was the best student in the room, white socks, big clunky sneakers and a black ankle brace just can't compete with fishnets and 3-inch spikes.  So there was something of an impossible ideal to live up to.

Props to the live DJ spinning sexy grooves.  He was the only guy in the room and, depending on which way we were facing, he had 30 middle-aged-and-up women leaning forward in front of him waving our butts in his direction.  (And he didn't laugh once.  Although I did sneak a glance in his direction, and he seemed oddly fascinated by the turntable in front of him.)  Good man.