After a work day of the usual length (leave the house at 6:15 a.m. and get home at 7 p.m.) I flopped down on the couch in zombie state until it was time to get ready to go out.
What DOES one wear to a strip club? I assumed that one would want to look nice. So I showered and took the time to tame my hair and scrape a razor across my cheeks. Clean, stylish jeans, black button-up shirt and black boots.
I stopped to kiss the hubby and promise I wouldn't be at the strip club too long - he didn't seem worried in the least. Along the way, I stopped at 7-Eleven for a small coffee to keep me awake, then drove - almost directly to the strip joint. (Only one wrong turn!)
I finished off the coffee in the parking lot and joined a gaggle of oglers at the door. The gaggle looked like they were on a family outting to the strip club. Two, older parent types with their drinking age children on a lark. (That's why I was there, anyway.)
I paid my $10 at the door and walked in to a surprisingly nice, almost elegant atmosphere. Tasteful lighting everywhere provided just enough glow to make all the ladies passably attractive.
Imagined conversation between regular patrons.
RALPH: Evenin', Sam.
SAM: Evenin', Ralph. Wow, it's kinda dark in here tonight.
RALPH: Yeh, Susan's working.
SAM: Ah, riiiiiight.
There are stages on the left and directly in front of me that are equipped with floor to ceiling poles that are getting a LOT of attention from women who are wearing only high-heeled shoes. So, of course, I made an immediate right to the bar. I found a spot at the end and ordered a beer and turned the stool to observe the scenery.
First thing I notice is the guys sitting at the bar watching "the game." I don't remember what sport was on, because I was too busy thinking that they just paid a cover charge to come watch "the game" at a strip club. I guess that gives a whole new meaning to 'boob tube.'
Interupted by a deeply thought out, insightful theory here -
If you're at a strip club, watching television and it's not "the game" - you're gay.
While looking around some more, a certain women stopped in profile, directly in front of me, quite close and blocking my line of sight. I leaned left, then right, to see around her, and she moved on. I thought nothing of it, until it happened the third time.
I mean, she's standing really close, making it impossible to look at anything but her, forcing me - an avid reader - to ponder what Ramone did to earn a permanant signature upon her hilly valley (not to be confused with her mountainous peaks - I didn't read those chapters). So, as I pondered the depth of her character plot, it occurred to me
- this scantily clad woman is invading my personal space -- a lot.
This was immediately followed by another thought -
"Idiot. She's working and you're treating her like an obstructed-view seat at the opera."
Well, no sooner did I have that epiphany, then I guess she realized I was blind or gay and deleted me from her paper route.
More to come.
What DOES one wear to a strip club? I assumed that one would want to look nice. So I showered and took the time to tame my hair and scrape a razor across my cheeks. Clean, stylish jeans, black button-up shirt and black boots.
I stopped to kiss the hubby and promise I wouldn't be at the strip club too long - he didn't seem worried in the least. Along the way, I stopped at 7-Eleven for a small coffee to keep me awake, then drove - almost directly to the strip joint. (Only one wrong turn!)
I finished off the coffee in the parking lot and joined a gaggle of oglers at the door. The gaggle looked like they were on a family outting to the strip club. Two, older parent types with their drinking age children on a lark. (That's why I was there, anyway.)
I paid my $10 at the door and walked in to a surprisingly nice, almost elegant atmosphere. Tasteful lighting everywhere provided just enough glow to make all the ladies passably attractive.
Imagined conversation between regular patrons.
RALPH: Evenin', Sam.
SAM: Evenin', Ralph. Wow, it's kinda dark in here tonight.
RALPH: Yeh, Susan's working.
SAM: Ah, riiiiiight.
There are stages on the left and directly in front of me that are equipped with floor to ceiling poles that are getting a LOT of attention from women who are wearing only high-heeled shoes. So, of course, I made an immediate right to the bar. I found a spot at the end and ordered a beer and turned the stool to observe the scenery.
First thing I notice is the guys sitting at the bar watching "the game." I don't remember what sport was on, because I was too busy thinking that they just paid a cover charge to come watch "the game" at a strip club. I guess that gives a whole new meaning to 'boob tube.'
Interupted by a deeply thought out, insightful theory here -
If you're at a strip club, watching television and it's not "the game" - you're gay.
While looking around some more, a certain women stopped in profile, directly in front of me, quite close and blocking my line of sight. I leaned left, then right, to see around her, and she moved on. I thought nothing of it, until it happened the third time.
I mean, she's standing really close, making it impossible to look at anything but her, forcing me - an avid reader - to ponder what Ramone did to earn a permanant signature upon her hilly valley (not to be confused with her mountainous peaks - I didn't read those chapters). So, as I pondered the depth of her character plot, it occurred to me
- this scantily clad woman is invading my personal space -- a lot.
This was immediately followed by another thought -
"Idiot. She's working and you're treating her like an obstructed-view seat at the opera."
Well, no sooner did I have that epiphany, then I guess she realized I was blind or gay and deleted me from her paper route.
More to come.
1 comment:
So what about the midget strippers???????/
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