So you think you can dance—-pole dance that is?

Today is one of those days. We don't get a single customer in for the first three hours—not even a cheap bastard sitting at the stage clutching  singles like a fistful of lottery tickets.

The day starts as usual, in my corner spot of the dressing room. A couple girlfriends are putting on makeup, blow-drying their hair, and lacing up their latest outfits. I hesitate over which eye shadow to wear, then decide on purple to match my top.  Some thick black eye liner, fake eyelashes,  a quick spritz of nice perfume, and I'm out on the floor.