The Terror Strikes Again

My sister Adwoa’s boyfriend has proclaimed her the second worst stripper/dancer on the planet. He has identified me as the first. The details as to why he would think my younger  sibling is such a horror in the art of seduction via dance have not been made clear to me. Therefore, I can only assume the following:

After a hard day of work spent coding, building websites and deliberating on what is more gangsta: Star Trek or Star Wars, Chris W. enters his one bedroom apartment to find his girlfriend in the kitchen, making grits and fried plantain.

“I’ve got a special treat for you tonight,” she says in her most sultry voice.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” he says, feigning breathless anticipation.

She is now 6 months pregnant with her first child. Her body and taste buds are going through things she has never experienced before. Plantain and salty grits seems like a perfectly reasonable and delicious dinner. Washed down with ice-cold water, it makes a filling and tasty meal – romantic even.

After watching Chris choke down every bite, he forces a smile of appreciation and dreads what’s going to come next. He knows it will either be very good, or very bad. It turns out to be very, very bad.

“You’ve been such a good sport about the emotional and bodily changes I’ve going through,” says Adwoa coyly. “So tonight, I’m going to show you my gratitude. Tonight, I give you Pre-Natal Naughtiness/Pre-Natal Pleasure – but you can call me Delyshush.”

Adwoa lumbers over to the CD player, all 200+ pounds of her once taunt body convulsing along the way. She hits ‘play’ and the smooth tenor of Robin Thicke and Pharell’s Wanna love you Girl blares through the speakers. Her skin is already beaded with sweat from slaving over the stove. The smell of grits and fried plantain oil is thick in the air. Chris swears he’s going to be sick, but holds tightly to his composure.

There is no pole in their apartment, so she must improvise and do floor work and dance around their household fixtures…like the cheap plastic floor lamp from Wal-Mart. Her huge, dimpled posterior looks enormous as she bends over and looks behind her suggestively. Unfortunately, her stomach is in the way, so she can only hold this position ever so briefly. She recalls a move from Carmen Electra’s workout video promo from TV, and vainly attempts to throw her leg over one of the dining room chairs. This causes both her calf and thigh muscles to cramp, and she drops to the floor in pain. Chris rushes over to help his poor hapless girlfriend.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams. “I’m going to finish this dance!”

With the thick odor of grits in the air and Pharell and Robin encouraging her, she rises like mountain from the sea and bravely finishes her routine. She pushes Chris to the sofa and grabs her now very full breasts, engorged as a side effect of the life growing inside of her. She shakes them vigorously in his face. He fights the urge to grimace. A full 2 1/2 minutes have passed, and she cannot make it through the entire track. Exhausted, she completes her dance of seduction by grabbing a fist full of glittering “booty dust” (courtesy of a local sex shop) and tosses it in the air above his head. A glimmering cascade of sparkly powder settles on the shoulders of his lifeless body. He is mortified and she is delighted. She has rendered him speechless with her seductive physical prowess!

The music has died and Adwoa towers above him. She grabs him by the hand, and like a little lamb to the slaughter, leads him to the bedroom for another round of horror/delight.