So, what do you watch when you’re not watching the fists of the fiercest females in our city? Depends on who’s wrasslin’.
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Turn the other cheek? The Charlottesville Lady Arm Wrestlers may be that revealing, but they aren’t as forgiving. |
Even when the Charlottesville Lady Arm Wrestlers first started gripping up and getting down for charitable causes at Blue Moon Diner, they did it in style. The first bout, in February 2008, introduced us to recurring characters like Stiletto Southpaw, who combined “Bond girl” and bondage into a sort of assassin chic. Each month, the puns grew more wicked, the entourages more mischievous. The only things that didn’t become “more” were the costumes, and … well, sometimes, less is more.
In particular, more skin. If cleavage could intimidate, then the battles waged between the exposed bra cups of wrestlers like Tinkerhell and Trixie “The Vault” Mancini would be as epic as the mini-skirted skirmishes of the brawlers themselves. Fishnet stockings extend from ankles to euphoric heights; hot pants and fake eyelashes abound. Once, in a fit of giggles, a bruiser named Sparkles shook her short-(short-short-)shorts at the crowd, and I swear to this day that I saw more than sparkles. I saw disco, baby.
For some wrestlers, the character is key: Tragedy Ann flirts with the classic “Sexy Librarian” image, while Miller Time is a tiara-headed, Tara Reid-ish lush. Others up the sex appeal with—how shall I put this?—“aural pleasures.” The best local argument for the sex appeal of pregnant women (maybe a category in next year’s “Best Of”?) may be the black-eyed, white-gowned Bridezilla, who sported a padded pregger-suit under her dress and who howled and groaned like she’s having honeymoon flashbacks.
And strong is sexy, people. I know, I know—some of you are stuck on “Make Love, Not War.” But for CLAW, I say, “Why not both?”
