I didn’t want to go on the floor bc I could hear a lot of screaming and everyone who’d been on the floor already had returned grumpy: there was a bachelorette (jsyk women are absolutely as horrible and badly behaved in the club as men, remember the girl who unexpectedly crab-walk-humped me until I fell over) in the house with a big group and she was shrieking and some girls were licking her nipples and no one wanted to deal.
by the time I got out there tho, determined to avoid the bachelorette and her party, there were a lot more women so I sat with a friendly looking guy: part hustle, part perch til I scoped out the club.
A girl at the rack started screaming and I sighed. ”That must be the bachelorette.”
“Yeah, it was the talk of the dressing room. Some bride-to-be is in here with a bunch of guys, screaming her head off.”
“I know nothing of a bachelorette.”
“That’s ok, Jon Snow. I wanted to figure out who she was so I could avoid her, I think mission accomplished.”
He gave a startled laugh. ”Where are you from?”
“Boston, but I’ve been here a while. Sometimes I think about moving back to the east coast and then I remember how expensive food is out there and it’s not even good!”
“Yeah! Like iceberg lettuce is practically all they have and it’s expensive and what even is the point of iceberg lettuce?” I’m serious here. I don’t get it. I caused a giant schism on fb between iceberg lettuce lovers and the rest of us normal people. “If you want a crunch just eat cabbage! plus it’s better for you.”
Another shocked laugh and said, “You’re funny!”
“Yeah I’ve been told that. Actually a bachelor I gave a dance to the other day asked me if I enjoy making conversation in the time to kill before the dance song starts and I was like absolutely not but I had to perfect my patter so no one suspects how much work this all is. It’s like a muscle, you know, you have to flex it.”
Sat with him for long enough, I had a feel for the room and was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get a dance, too awkward, like a fish out of water. But you never know.
“You ready for a dance, sugar pie?”
“No, but,” he fumbled out his wallet. “Thank you for sitting with me and making me laugh.” Before my lip could curl (bc most guys who courtesy tip throw down a dollar and like just don’t, that’s more insulting than nothing) he pulled out a twenty. “It was very nice to talk to you, thank you!”
next up feminist men