The Night I Saw Little Pixie Strip

My coworkers nearly knocked each other over trying to get to my cube. They had to tell me about the sign they saw on their way to work. Little Pixie the 3′ 6″ stripper was doing a show at the Oasis.


Oasis was a little seedier and smaller than the places I’d been before, but no less expensive. Eight bucks for a sprite? I guess you pay extra for sober entertainment.

Hubby and I got a table against the wall. It had a good view of the stage and the rest of the public area. Apparently we were a little early since dancers outnumbered the clientele by about 3 to 1. That appeared to be fine with the fellow at the next table. It would’ve taken at least three girls to encircle his expansive middle.

Some of the dancers took apathy to new heights. A couple came across as too sexy for their thongs, clearly doing the patrons a favor just by existing. One was matching her chosen target, I mean client, shot for shot and not getting the better end of the deal. And then there was Jen, at least I think that’s what she said her name was. The music was pretty loud.

She was amazing.

The only thing I could think of was that tired old cliché, “what the heck is she doing HERE?” She had that uncanny knack of making you feel like you were the only person in the room when she smiled. If her enthusiasm was an act then she was Hollywood worthy. She sold it, all of it. When she took the stage everyone paid attention. When she left the stage I wasn’t even sure of my own name, let alone who’d I’d come to see.

Just as my wits coalesced into something useful a squeal went up nearby. I glanced over in time to see Sloshed Stripper barrelling straight at me. I had time for one, clear thought. Oh this can’t be good.

She grabbed my hand and gushed, “Ohmygosh, I’ve heard so much about you!”

Now folks, let me stop for a moment and paint a picture. I’m 2′ 11″ish. I vaguely resemble a penguin with tiny arms that flap yet get me nowhere and a generous backside that follows me around no matter how far or fast I walk. So I’m sure you understand that the last thing I ever expected, in all my life, was to be mistaken for a stripper.

“No, no I really don’t think you have,” I said with far more calm than I felt.

I didn’t want to embarrass her, which looking back now seems bizarre. Here is this drunk woman who takes her clothes off for money and I’m worried about embarrassing her. Right.

She blinked and did a double take as it finally sunk in. There was much giggling and apologizing but eventually she flounced off and I was left to absorb what had just happened while hubby dearest laughed his butt off.


This is where I would normally end the post. I’ve set up the scene, described the humorous bit and then given it a light cap. But… the surprises weren’t over.

Little Pixie showed up, Diva late as befitted her status. My stomach churned. I was rethinking this whole thing. Was it going to turn into a freak show? Were the people going to mock her? Why had I thought this was a good idea?

We waited through a few more dances by girls who acted like they knew they weren’t going to get tips… surprise, they didn’t. Then the DJ announced that Little Pixie was up next. People came from all corners of the club to sit around the stage, far more than I’d expected. The butterflies turned into porcupines.

The lights changed, the music soared and Little Pixie took the stage. The crowd went wild. They cheered and clapped and waved dollar bills… just like every other stripper. She did a heart thumping, booty shaking routine … just like every other stripper. I couldn’t stop grinning. She was treated just like every other stripper and that was the most beautiful sight of the night.

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