My Magic Mike Experience

photo from www.poptower.com

A few of my girlfriends and I went to see Magic Mike. Of course they were all oooh, Matthew McConaughey  or Channing Tatum.  Yeah, whatever.  Matt Bomer's who I wanted to see. 
We're going to the cashier to get our tickets, still debating on the whole going to see strippers dilemma.  On the one hand, it's strippers. On the other, it's the prospect of Matt Bomer in a G-string.
Seeing the little old ladies with their walkers going in makes me waiver a bit, though. 
I'm the first in line and I ask "are we going to do this?"
The answer is "you decide and we'll see what you see."
Thanks.  Put it all on me.  Then I get blamed for their guilt at paying ten bucks for strippers.  
Did I mention piercing blue eyes, perfectly smooth skin, silky raven tresses...?
So, I'm opening my mouth to say "Yes, I want to be the bad girl.  I want to yell and scream 'Take it all off, Mattie!"
What comes out is "One for Spiderman, please."
That got a big laugh and I'm still being mocked a week later.  I'm a prude, a good girl, chicken--all sorts of names.  And I don't mind. 
You see, the choice is still mine.  I can always go see it.  Or I could continue to let the Holy Spirit guide me. I mean, do they really think it was me that chose a man in tights over Matt Bomer in much less? 
Once you do something, you can't take it back.  I can't take back that I chose Superhero over Stripper.  The question is, Do I want to?
Two of the girls went and saw Magic Mike later and reported back that we didn't miss anything.  It was all porn, no plot.  It takes a lot of faith to trust they're right. 
Because, did I mention Matt Bomer?