I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY SERVE SLUTS IN HERE

I have a friend I see maybe once a month, him and/or his girlfriend/roommate. We meet at the same place, a neighborhood restaurant/bar, (the same place that inspired, "Today's Body Art is Tomorrows What The Hell Is That?). Tonight I thought maybe I was in a whore house.

Funny story. Shaneequa and I were in the hill country to visit our friend Ruby some years back. Shaneequa and I stopped at the local barbecue restaurant to get weekend food before we bee lined it for what we consider to be our retreat. Great friends, three and a half acres, house, pool, homey, like family. It is either peaceful or we are laughing so hard we cry. Sometimes we have those very serious discussions and resolve all the problems of the world. Those kind of friends.

Shaneequa and I had stopped at the barbecue place before but they didn't know us, yet. We are waiting for our order when someone opened the door and yelled indignantly, "I CAN"T BELIEVE THEY SERVE SLUTS IN HERE!". It was our friend Ruby. She saw my car and thought she'd give us something to talk about. Shaneequa and I laughed a little thinking the owners and patrons must know of our friend, but no. Owner asked if we knew who she was as he handed us our sacks of food. "She's our madam", I said. It's our favorite story now. We're the Fort Worth Sluts.

OK, back to heresthedeal. Tonight we all sat at the bar as dudes seem to find this a necessary part of the experience. Tables...BORING, the action is at the bar. The naked women are apparently at the bar too. Usually the women are either dressed like they just got off the running path and it's time to have beer or just got off work and NEED to have lots of something.

The woman to my right apparently forgot her skirt. Really. Not just short, gone. I am more familiar with her inner thigh than my own. The other women must have called each other and declared it boobage night. It was nipply in there. Women of all shapes and sizes and ages were basically wearing as little as could be considered legal. I looked around to see if perhaps the tables had become small booths for quickies but, no, moms and kids waiting at the table while dads got drinks at the bar cause it's faster. I felt like the house mom in my skirt and slightly revealing tee shirt. One woman, whose breasts were bigger than some watermelons I have seen kept losing her support. I can't imagine how she carries these breasts but resting them on the bar seemed to help. I told her to have the mole on her nipple checked out. Doing my public duty. These women fidgeted to keep their privates semi private. The seemed really uncomfortable checking this one and the one and down there. I have an idea. Put on some real clothes, that fit you. Those REAL TIGHT things look good in the mirror when you pull them just so, in the back you look like the victim of a wedgie. That spaghetti strapped dress that gives you boobage big enough to rest your chin looks the same in the back. And thong girl, she didn't get the boobage memo. She got the wear a string between your butt cheeks that can be seem over the jeans that cover your pelvic bone.

Maybe it was a long lost chapter of sister strippers with founding members in attendance. Maybe it was some initiation into the Fredrick's of Hollywood sisterhood. it was weird. I got the feeling that maybe it was pole dance contest night.

I'm old fashioned in more way than one I guess. I believe in just enough skin, too much is an advertisement. I also don't pole dance. However, I have some killer fan dance moves...told you I was old fashioned.
not really, cats ate the fans.

Sluts, put some clothes on in public. Wear your costumes at home. Don't take pictures.

You're welcome,
Lillybell Blues