Whoever said guys can't pole dance. Boy, were they wrong.
The seemingly quiet Derek proved that as I caught him with my camera mid swing around the pole holding up the tent at the annual Mother's Club Cocktail party.
The night began with a rendezvous at the The Black Cow and four glasses of pinot noir for me. (Thanks to Tommy for expensing our bill. Nice!) Then we headed over to the party, which takes place at the ridiculously gorgeous and enormous home of one of the Club's members. Its stellar setting right on the River made for an elegant evening, or as elegant as an evening can get when you have a gang of pole dancers hogging the patch of grass designated for groovin'.
It was a bit more sparsely populated than last year, but there was still plenty of food, drink and good laughs to go around. And feel-good music from Don't Call Me Shirley rounded out the night, which ended when we were the last people on the dance floor, scavenging at the hors d'oeuvres table in an attempt to stave off morning hangovers. It didn't work.
For us, thank goodness the little man was with Grammy and didn't arrive back home until this afternoon, giving us some much needed time to recuperate, which we did with a load of grease ordered from the local pizza shop.
Anyway, check us out. It was a night to remember....or not.
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