Once upon a time, when I thought BonneBell lip gloss was king, my mother took me to see strippers. Before anyone gets too upset, I should add it was for charity. Also she took my younger sister and a friend of hers too. As well, I should clarify that she didn’t actually make it rain Benjamins. We’re Canadian so any precipitation would have been Loonies, if one wanted to invoke the name of our one dollar coin, but that seems vaguely derogatory and I’m under the impression that it’s more hip to cite the name of the person on the bill in which case my mother made it rain “Elizabeth the Seconds” or “E2” as we like to call her up here in the puzzling, frigid north.
Anyway, if hauling your two teens and one of their friends out for a summer evening to watch men take off their clothing wasn’t enough, my mother secured us front row seats to the action.
Because banana hammocks are always better close up? Because if you’re going to land your kids in therapy it’s better to go big or go home? Because she was being considerate of my myopia?
Regardless, this was how my sister and I found ourselves watching a man impersonate Tarzan while single women in the crowd went wild and my mother hooted and hollered. It was marvelous fun, although it left me wondering whether our go to family restaurant would now be “Hooters” in support of equality for my Dad. Or if we would voyage to nude beaches in the summer to awkwardly walk around as a sun burned family.
Happily none of those other events came to pass, but I will always remember my mother whistling enthusiastically as a man impersonating “Usher” arrived on an open top jeep into the show. That’s a cherished childhood memory if I’ve ever heard of one. I shall repeat it for all of her friends when she gets old and takes up lawn bowling and knitting sweaters for cats.