Girls! You’re engaged! Committed to one man forever and ever and ever! So I assume that the one thing you want before they send you on your way down the aisle is a total stranger thrusting his *excuse me* in your face to the sound of Lady Gaga’s Poker Face? Yeah? Yeah?
NO. Of course not.
If you’re anything like me i.e only just coming to terms with your own occasional nudity let alone anybody else’s, the idea of having a stripper at your hen do is completely horrifying. The thought of having a man employed for my entertainment with the expectation that I will laugh and WOOO! all the way through it – rather than gnawing on my devil horn antennae until hospitalised by glitter inhalation as I would prefer – is just too much to bear.
You see, there are reasons why we agree to get married beyond the love, romance and security which render strippers entirely inappropriate:
1) We have seen enough
When we say “Yes I will marry you” we are also saying (granted, more quietly) “I have seen quite enough of those and I do not wish to see any more.” We get the picture, have done as much sight seeing as we wish, and are now ready to close the proverbial guide book.
So the last thing we want is another one – with whom we have no emotional investment – speedily revealed from the depths of a velcro police uniform and positioned at eye level. No preamble, no ‘so, what are your views on Ikea’s delivery costs?” just straight in, music on, trousers off, whoomp there it is. I don’t want to get too Fifty Shades on you here but that’s just not how I roll.
2) We have been trained to know that laughing is not ok
Any footage I have seen of women enjoying the stripper experience (largely in soaps so all definitely accurate) involves a lot of screaming, laughing and pointing.
Now, I’m no Jilly Cooper, but in my limited experience these are the precise things you are not supposed to do at the sight of a naked gentleman. I have also never chanted “Get ’em off! Get ’em off!” and drummed on the dressing table as my other half undresses for bed but I imagine I’m more likely to get an awkward frown rather than a lap dance. And thank goodness for that.
3) If you think I am eating that, you are deeply mistaken
I’m rather paranoid when it comes to cleanliness. I like to know that my plates have been through a dishwasher, that a glass I drink from comes from a reputable cupboard and that my cutlery has not been subject to any potential contamination.
So if you think that I am prepared to consume anything that has been spread, sprayed or squirted onto the body of a complete stranger for the amusement of my friends, then you are wrong. Whipped cream, as much as I love you, if you think I’m having any, you are going to need to place yourself on top of a hot chocolate or a sundae, and not on some joker’s nether regions. I will never be that hungry.
I imagine by now that you may think I define the word prude. And perhaps you’re right. But I’d say I just know my limits.
Innuendo I can do, hell, I can even drink out of a plastic willy shaped straw if I have to (though I would argue that there is no better argument for celibacy than those plastic monstrosities) but bring me the real thing covered in oil and I’m more likely to try and cook it than shout ‘Wahey!’ And nobody wants to see that.
So to my friends, I shall say this: no naked or even partially naked men for me please. Let’s keep it fully clothed and female for one last time.
This tour bus terminates here.
