Not for sale.

The pole dance studio where I take lessons was featured at a local art expo. I invited friends to come watch and cheer me on. The place was packed with young professionals, so my friend who works in local politics fit right in in his suit and tie.  Another chick friend joined me on the stage for a demo with one of the instructors. She noticed him looking at his phone. "Hey!" she squealed, "what are you doing?! Don't look at that, look at this (pointing to me in my scantaly clad attire)!"

"What? This is work," he fires back looking at her then back at his phone. He should have stopped there, but then adds, "I gotta do this to pay for that," he gestures up to me mid upside down spin.

I then dismount the pole and, while wearing full on kitten platform heels and the outfit to match, interject with "Hey, um, just to clarify: I'm not for sale."