But. The first thing one of the cashiers said to me this morning was "So, do you wanna go see some strippers tonight?"

"Male strippers??! In (Craptown)?"

The cashier laughed. "Yup. So-and-so and So-and-so are going, and So-and-so and So-and-so are meeting us there, and I'm bringing my daughter (wtf!) and so is So-and-so." Basically these were all the "grown-up" women in the store.

Yeah.

As intruiged as I was at the thought, I realized that A) Do I really want to go to a bar with the intention of sticking dollar bills in the g-strings of slightly naked men, with women I work with who are twice my age? and B) I don't even have the $7 for the ticket, much less any extra for the benefit of the gentlemen performers.

It was quite the quandary. It's hell to be a poor retail schmuck. ;)

Bleeeaahhh. But a bar? Yuck. Bars have people. People are scary. Not that I am adverse to the concept of alcohol. But give it to me in girly drink form, I think. For the most part.

Oh who the hell am I kidding talking like I'm cool? I wouldn't know cool if it fell from the sky, hit me upside the head, and danced an Irish jig while eating deep-fried Oreo cookies.

Off to go read my book and play my flute and sit in the corner and be a good girl. Or else practice telekinesis....

0 comments

previous - next

Designed by georgedorn and provided by Positronic Design.
Grab your own copy here.