Pole Dancing Class

"I'm taking a pole dancing class!" my good friend Sasha exclaims, smiling broadly.

I look at her with barely disguised shock, my eyes wide, "Wait a minute. Lemme get this straight. You're taking a pole dancing class?!"

My surprise is not unfounded. While you couldn't really accuse Sash of being uptight or prudish, she is a Capricorn Catholic accountant, so is quite conservative with regards to these matters.

"Yes," she says proudly, "I'm taking it with Molly. On Wednesday nights."

"You...you haven't signed up already, ha...have you?" I sputter. I am still astonished. To say that this is out of character is an understatement. Sasha is very proper. "You know what pole dancing is, right?" I am still trying to reconcile what I know of her with this new information.

"Yes," she says, her smile faltering a little. Is that hesitation I sense?

"What is it then?" I say, a smirk already forming at the corner of my mouth.

She pauses. Is that a blush I see colouring her cheeks? Sasha blinks as though collecting her thoughts, and says innocently, "It's a baton twirling class, isn't it? You know where you spin that stick around?"

HAHAHAHAHA!!!! I explode into hysterical laughter, my stomach clenching and tears running uncontrollably down my cheeks.

CAN'T....BREATHE! LAUGHING....TOO...HARD!!