Pole Pending

Second to last day at work tomorrow! I have become obnoxious creature that spends all day running around shouting things like, "Last Wednesday ever!" and everyone is tired of me and wishes I would be quiet. Not going to happen, people.

You know what is going to happen?

You think I'm kidding.

What is going to happen is that I am going to attend a pole dancing class. Not for post-advertising sales career, for exercise. Here is how this monstrous error in judgment came about:

One of my colleagues, let's call her Biscuit, was talking about how she needed to take up a hobby. Another colleague, let's call her Whistle, suggested something physical (Whistle enjoys sports and jogging and all that kind of crap stuff) and pole dancing came up. Biscuit and I were initially hesitant because, well, strippers, but then decided that why not, we could do that! It's exercise. It's a little bit 'different.' It'll be great fun. Great fun!

Great fun!
Also, get it? It's a POLE-ar bear! Haha! Hahaha! Hahahaha! *bang*

It goes without saying that we had been drinking.

What was I thinking? I get my foot caught in my handbag strap and trip over at work about once every three hours. I am incapable of coming downstairs at speed without slipping, clutching wildly at the handrail and shouting, "Whooo-oop!" I fell over my own chair this afternoon, for fuck's sake. It's alright for Whistle, who is fit, co-ordinated Sporty Type, and it's alright for Biscuit who isn't Sporty Type but who at least manages to navigate the office without tipping over, but oh dear.

I will be totally awkward at the shimmying up and down the pole part, and I will get the giggles, and I will fall off the pole. I will fall off the pole and land on my head. I warned Whistle and Biscuit that this was likely to happen but they just laughed gaily and carried on discussing appropriate polewear.

But secretly I know what will happen. I will not be a successful pole dancer like this adorable puppy:

Awwww.

I will suck.

It will be like the time I went yachting (sailing? I was in a little wee boat) and everyone was worried about being the first one to fall out of their boat and I said, "Oh, don't worry, it will be me," and hey all reassured me that I would be fine and stay in the boat, but I knew better. About three metres from shore I became flustered, thrashed about, and the boat went over and then, when I flipped the boat right-side-up again, there was a HUGE clump of pond weed dangling from the top of the mast like slimy green giant dreadlock wig.

This will be the pole-dancing equivalent of that.

But at least it will give me something to show the room at work drinks on Friday!

If you like you can print this off and cut it out and I'm kidding.