I have a friend who runs a pole dancing studio. Who would have thought? I guess there is a minor craze at the moment for women who want to learn to dance like a stripper. Now I say stripper only because I have no idea where else this talent might come in handy. I suppose if you take the subway, you could always strut your stuff if a car is half-empty. They always have poles there, although those are mostly used so you can keep yourself from falling. Still, I think there are a whole bunch of unsuspecting men whose wives toddle off during the day for pole-dancing lessons. Then, one day Mr. Smith arrives home late from work, only to find his wife dressed in her underwear and doing tricks around the bedpost. “My gawd,� he exclaims, “I’m in love with a stripper!�

Would you marry a stripper? I have dated my fair share over the years. I don’t know that I’ve ever fallen in love with one. In a lot of ways, it’s the nature of the business. Adult entertainment can be so cheesy. The mystique gets shattered pretty quickly. I have to take my hat off to some of the pole routines I have seen, but I have never caught myself thinking, ‘Damn, I hope my wife can do that.’ Now I just have stripper friends. On the odd occasion, one gets too close, and suddenly the walls have to come up. I love hot women, and dancers certainly fall into that category. I just never want to be one of those guys who says he’s fallen for a peeler. I get enough smoking hot babes emailing me for no strings attached trysts. The last thing I need is to worry is one springing at me from the top of my canopy bed in the middle of the night!