Yes, the rumors are true; my baby has fat feet. I bought Genny a pair of wedding shoes, which should have fit her, but her puffy feet squeegee out the tops. She may just have to wear white plastic grocery bags tied with ribbon around her feet.
Speaking of things squeezing out of their holders, I bought my seamless, strapless push-up bra for the wedding at David’s Bridal. When I reacted to the $69 price tag the saleslady was quick to point out that the exact same bra sells for $89 at Victoria’s Secret. Ever the bargain seeker, I bought the floor model and received 20% off.
I even sought good deals on clothing when I was a stripper. Flimsy little nothings cost a lot of dollar bill tips and paying for lingerie in singles is always a dead giveaway that one is an exotic dancer. To save on spending all my hard-earned cash on costumes I even handmade many of my bikini sets. I still have a large blue bin stuffed with fading colored thongs, plastic bras and lacey what-nots.
Unfortunately, I do not have any rolls of dollar bills stashed away anywhere. People often ask me where all my stripping money went. The answer is, the same place anybody’s money goes. The cash flow potential of stripping is overrated unless you’re willing to perform extracurricular activities outside the clubs. The most I ever made on a shift was like $600, but the average daily rate was about two or three hundred dollars. Not bad money for dancing around in your skivvies, but not great by any means.
Well, at least I kept most of my morals intact, although “morals” is a funny concept. Who’s to say what’s right or wrong when one isn’t harming anyone else, except perhaps for oneself and possibly the dignity of womankind. I’d rather not speak for all women though, seeing as I change my own mind about stripping around twenty times a day.