I’m beginning to think that in my last column, when describing my quest for a job, I may have been a little hasty. Citing my principles, I was quick to dismiss stripping as a profession. But weeks later my new job isn’t exactly raking in the big bucks, and I’m wondering whether I was concerned with my principles or with everyone else’s.

I decided to take a closer look behind Door No. 2, and see what I passed up.

Welcome to Club Fantasy.

I walk into the dark strip club, filled with scantily clad women, where I’m greeted by Gypsy. She could definitely fit into a fantasy or two: Her pretty face is framed by long dark hair, and she’s wearing a thong and chaps and nothing else. She’s very Christina Aguilera-meets-Cher.

Before dancing, Gypsy worked two jobs while going to school and had zero time for her daughter. She says she started dancing because she needed money fast when she was in an automobile accident and her mom became ill with cancer. She adds that even though she makes a lot of money, she doesn’t see most of it.

Nevertheless, it’s worth it for her to be able to take care of her mother and have time with her daughter.

“I don’t do this because I’m lazy,” she says.

I believe it. She’s taking 12 units, has a 3.8 GPA and is studying to become a teacher. The 20 hours she’s working per week bring in around $4,000 a month.

Although stripping pays well, Gypsy’s stories make it clear that it has costs of its own. She tells me stripping is a very lonely business.

“It opens up your eyes to how people really are,” she says. “It’s hurt my female relationships the most … Women are very insecure.”

Gypsy also admits that relationships with guys are difficult. Relationships are never easy, though, so shouldn’t we do what we want, and not what’s easy for others to accept?

She says the job “has its ups and downs,” but the longer we talk, the more downs are brought to my attention — like the fact that it’s dangerous.

“I had a stalker who’s now doing 25 years in prison,” she explains. “He paid a taxi driver for my home address. It started out with love notes and flowers, but then my cat was dead. And later, my other cat went missing.”

She found it soon afterward — in the engine of her car. The danger peaked when the man broke Gypsy’s kitchen window while her daughter was home.

“People jump to the conclusion that I’m a prostitute,” Gypsy says, describing the stigma attached to the profession. “I can’t even go to the grocery store without being recognized, and people will come up to me when I’m with my daughter.” She adds that she doesn’t even go to clubs anymore because she’s so much of a target for sexual abuse.

Maybe my idea of stripping was a fantasy in itself. The more I hear about the reality of it, the less exciting it sounds.

“It’s not easy at all,” Gypsy tells me. “It’s difficult psychologically and physically. There’s nights when you’re constantly being rejected.”

Of course when I imagine it, I don’t get rejected.

When it comes down to it, I don’t think I want to endure what the job requires. I’m comfortable with my body, I enjoy dancing and I don’t feel I have to prove my intelligence to anyone. But making a living off my body instead of my brains means I would have to prove it all the time. Call me a sucker, but society’s reaction matters to me and I wouldn’t be proud of what I do.

For Gypsy, it may be easier to give the finger to society’s mindset. She’s proud to support herself and her family, as well as work toward her goal. But I don’t need that money. And unfair as their views may be, I need the support of my family and friends.

Before I leave, Gypsy tells me, “We’re always hiring, would you want to try dancing?”

I guess all I can say is, “I’ve thought about it.”