Montag, August 07, 2006


Ladies night at the Crack. Not a chance! I declare. But its Butt’s birthday, had to be there. She made such a big deal out of mine last year. The bouncer looks at my ID. I’m old, I say, too old to be here. No! He laughs, c’mon in. The curtain is up; the hounds are separated, for now. The music blares (just wait, it gets louder every song!). The enthusiastic males are up skipping and strutting around. I marvel about where they get their energy. The one dressed like a policeman makes me laugh. Then there’s the pilot guy with the Top Gun shades. Do they really think this is what women want to see? A couple of the girls slip bills into their g strings and get an abbreviated lap dance, more like a slither up and down their bodies. Um, yuck. I see a girl with a tattoo of an anchor between her shoulder blades and want to ask her why she got it. Humongous green and blue polka dotted beach balls hang from the ceiling by fishing wire and I wonder how I can get one down and take it home. We take a few trips to the parking lot, one so I can give the birthday girl her present- a large gift bag filled with gluten-free goodies. She jumps up and down and hugs me, and I’m glad I’ve made her happy. We dance a few times, but then the music gets thrashier and I go sit at the table alone. Big mistake. I’m immediately approached by a man 15 or 20 years older than myself. It’s his first time here he says with a slight accent. Your ears will hurt tomorrow I reply and slink away. Soon after I make my escape, bidding goodnight to my sweet girls. She gives me another great big hug. I love you. I embrace the words and hold them close to my heart. My dreadlocked lil sis-like being is off to new adventures in Kiwi land in a couple of months and I’ll miss her. Despite the difference in our ages and preferences in places to frequent, we always have a fun time together. And usually, if we’re paying attention, a lesson to be learned.

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