Raising the Dead
In my efforts to be more seductive, I have been taking a belly dance class. I want to be able to swivel my hips in tiny figure eights and make little bells jingle when I move. I have been mesmerized by belly dancers since I went to a party at a local restaurant where the dancers smiled alluringly at the diners and graciously accepted tips without being called whores. Yes, I thought, this is the exercise program for me. Also, I find that little pooch belly that all belly dancers seem to have irresistible. I assume that belly dancing creates that pooch, but so far, I have not acquired one.
I take the class at my neighborhood adult novelty store. In addition to belly dance, they offer stripping and pole dancing classes. There is also a wide variety of flavored lubricants for those of us who prefer something tastier (albeit less economical) than spit as a lubricant.
There is only one woman in my class who does not hate me. I assume that the others hate me due to my magnificent coordination and cute jingly anklets and not due to my lack of a pooch. She used to want to be a nun, but now she wants to be a belly dancer. I like her because she bases her choice of profession on costuming. I respect that.
The woman has a monthly Goddess party at her home. Not knowing what a Goddess party was, I accepted her invitation. A Goddess party, it turns out, is like a grown up Ouija board get together. That's Ouija, not orgy.
All the attendees are creative and poetic and lovely. The food is divine and the wine is excellent. The problem is that every Goddess party begins with what I can only describe as a seance. Candles are lit and everyone holds hands. We close our eyes and a solemn oath of womanhood is offered. This is the part where I start to giggle. I cannot contain myself. I don't know why I find it funny, I just always feel like we should start playing Twister under the moon. I start imagining the Twister mat all greased up and then, I lose it.
I want to keep attending these events, but I want to skip the seance. This month, I tried showing up late, but she held off the ceremony until I arrived. Next month, it is imperative that I get out of the seance. All the guests are supposed to bring an offering for the Goddess; something that we want to raise.
I would bring that nice elderly gentleman that I met playing Bingo, but he already has Viagra.