Nearly 6 years ago,
bout a week after my 26th birthday, on a warm summers day (yes, DAY)
I showed up to work my very first stripper shift at a full nude club.
That night I went home with a few extra dollars, the gnarliest blisters (thanks to the pair of black satin civilian stilettos I INSISTED on wearing due to their merits of "class")
AND a bubbling anticipation for how this new chapter of my life would unfold.
GIIIIIIIIIRL, I HAD NO FUCKING CLUE.
Today I turn 32.
And as I celebrate another glorious year I like to think about the plethora of advice I'd give my baby stripper self.
For starters, I'd tell her that "class" is overrated and that god invented Pleasers for a reason!
I'd also tell her to stop complimenting the more experienced babes at the club with: "Omg, you look so good FOR. YOUR. AGE."
But seriously tho. #fuckingkarma
That aside, I'd also like to say cheers:
To you, the dope ass women who've inspired me over the years,
To you, the generous patrons who've contributed to this job being so much fucking fun,
To me, now being that broad who knows some things.