Vegas, part two: The Strip Club

I got drunk one night in Vegas. Depending on how long you've known me, your thought here is either, "You got drunk?" or "You only got drunk one night?" So I will explain; I used to drink a lot. On a regular basis. I've since found that hangovers and parenting aren't compatible, so now I only drink when someone else is caring for my children for more than 24 hours.

Anyway, the problem with being a reformed party girl is that once I start drinking, I sort of forget that I ever reformed. Like, I think I can drink as much as I could when I was 30 and childless. *

And so it was in Vegas, when Hot Guy and I went out with his business partner and another friend. At one point, one of the gentleman said that he wanted to go to a strip club. The other gentleman assured him that they could go later, after the married people went back to their room. After realizing that Hot Guy and I were the married people, TOTALLY DRUNK ME** piped up with, "I want to go to the strip club!"

I've actually been to a strip club before. But it was a really dreary, depressing one. And to take even more joy out of it, I was with an ex who made it even more dreary and depressing. I've been secretly dying to go to a cool one for years. Because I'm one of those people who watches Real Sex and Taxicab Confessions a little too much. 

Okay, the other guys agreed, we'll all go. One of them would be paying.  I'm guessing they assumed that I would soon switch to diet Cokes and change my mind. They had never met TDM. Hot Guy has, which is why he exchanged a couple of twenties for ones and made sure his phone was ready to take pictures.

After much trekking to a more upscale casino to inquire about the best strip club, we got into a cab headed for The Spearmint Rhino. Just the fact that there's no allusion to boobs in the name was enough to make me happy.

So we go in, and it's just like a regular, nice club.***Except, that, you know, I'm the only woman there wearing clothes. I really thought there would be other curious soccer moms in there, seeing that the club was nice and in Vegas and all. As we are standing in the hallway, a lovely young dancer starts talking to us. Well, mostly me. Would Hot Guy and I like a private dance?

What's the etiquette for turning down a dancer?

I still don't know, but Hot Guy manages to without saying, "Nah, my wife is not THAT cool. Plus, we have better things to spend our money on."

I begin to get a little nervous. I hadn't realized that I'd have to interact with people, I just thought it would be like a live version of Real Sex. TDM's response to this is to ask for more drinks. Which I get, as our friend has started a tab. Soon I am chitchatting with all the girls and stuffing dollar bills into their cleavage.

One of them is impressed that my boobs are real. So she grabs them.

Right there, from the stage.

If anyone but a woman in a g-string and pasties, dancing for horny tourists, had grabbed my boobs, I would have smacked her. But TDM starts giggling. That's when Hot Guy knows the end is nigh and takes us outside to find a cab.

The pictures and the video interview Hot Guy recorded later (where apparently I revealed much admiration for the dancers and their perfect boobs) have now been deleted. So the only version of this story that's left is mine.

And I'm sticking to it.












*Spoiler: I cannot. 
**TDM for short.
***From what I can remember. I quit clubbing even before I quit drinking.