We were standing outside a club called Baby Dolls, smoking cigars, and talking about the previous events in the night. Seemed a little funny that I was about to venture into a place that has the namesake of my pet name for Kelly, but what the hell? The last place we went was unappealing so a new venue was in order. We then see a bouncer in a tuxedo escort a drunk gent in a physical and verbal manner that displayed to all that he'd rather just curb stomp the alcoholic then ever have to deal with him again.
This was my kind of place.
We stroll on in and found ourselves happy about the quality of the employees. It's been years since I've last been in an establishment of that nature, but I was familiar with the activities that frequent there. The stage was large and accompanied by three other platforms if you will. There was the Lone Star in all it's glory at the center of the stage to remind patrons that weren't looking at boobs exactly what state they're in.
Now dear readers I'd like to talk to you about awkwardness. I've had my moments of running in to an ex-girlfriend with another girl in arm, or a boy in hers, but nothing to the point of having a lap dance with your future father in-law sitting next to you. This man is larger than I, believes seat belt laws are a violation of his Constitutional rights (no joke), and has lots of firearms.
The girls at this place were very attractive as you would expect. One came and sat on my lap and introduced herself and asked where I was from. The girl seemed very interested in conversation that didn't involve sex or raising children so we talked about her husband's line of work and what it's like being a Hungarian immigrant in Dallas.
The selection of females was diverse in their ethnic background as they were in cup size. I talked to a girl from Honduras, Greece, and a couple that were Dallas natives. The last one was quite possibly the most interesting girl as she asked if my fiance was a slut and then rambled on about the things I should tell her to do for me before breakfast. I reminded her that again my future father-in-law is present and I'm to play nice. She was, as one of us in attendance put it, a naughty girl.
Which brings me to another girl, skinny in stature and spacey in gaze. She told me I was allowed to touch her, to which I declined. She then asked if she could call my fiance to tell her how much of a nice guy I am. I assumed, correctly I might add, that she would not appreciate corresponding with an exotic dancer.
This conversation actually happened:
Him: I was engaged to a stripper and didn't know it.
Me: .....uh...How did you not know she was a stripper?
Him: (shakes head).....
This all took place after dinner at a BBQ joint that had skinny women wear little more than their exotic dancing counterparts, multiple conversations about firearms, getting lost, and Whirlyball. We still had to meet up with the girls and compare who was the more drunk.
Now that was a bachelor party to remember.
"The way I see it, all the popular singers are strippers." - Juliana Hatfield