I think I suck at writing stories about my adventures. Mostly because I’m always drinking at the time, and because I have a terrible memory which I chalk up to ADD. But nonetheless, I will attempt to tell you of Jonathon at the stripclub. Seems silly to change the name since I only have the first and shortening it to Jon would seem a bit too on the nose anyway.
It started on Thursday when me and DH (dear hubby) were fried from the week and drinking at home. Drinks and music, and somehow that turned into where we could go out and have a good time? We decided to Lyft to the local strip club. So, I put on a black teddy-type of top that snaps at the crotch and no panties, my shortest black mini skirt, and strappy black heels, jean jacket. Set phasers to “stun.”
It was a fun club, there is a history there for hubby and so we chose a table off to the side and settled right in with more drinks. DH gave me a few dollars and told me to tip the girls onstage. I refused since they were just waitresses cleaning poles and twerking. I said, “You either sit at the tip-rail or you don’t.” So, DH says, “Let’s go.”