So the pastie mandate appears to...

So the pastie mandate appears to be subsiding. Some girls are wearing them, so aren’t.

I’m in on a Saturday afternoon, standing in front of the glass wall underneath the DJ booth when one of the dancers comes over and starts running stripper shit. She gives me a compliment based on my ethnicity (she gets it wrong). I deflect it. She keeps running her mouth. I’m not biting because of that lame-ass introduction she gave. She finally tells me that she made a bet with some guy at the bar that she couldn’t get a dance out of me. I told her I was born in the morning but it wasn’t this morning. She tells me to look over at the PL. Of course I don’t. I told her that what she should do is go over and tell him that she made a bet with me. She said she couldn’t do that because he’s in some class she’s taking and that would be weird. She’s pulling out all the clichés but I give her props for effort. Then I see her sitting in the lap dance area with him. Pathetic.

Luckily, before I could toss the ol’ IR into the strip club scrap heap, I get some of those (in)famous high mileage dances from a couple of dusky wenches. Cash, thick as a brick and ghetto as Baltimore; and Mahogany, a sultry slim goodie, both kept it entertaining.