La la la, she said to me… My buddy took me out for a very belated birthday, but I didn’t mind. We had a good time. As the night was winding down, he suggests we go to a strip club. I initially resisted, but was easily talked into it. I’ve been to strip clubs before, but I’m generally not that into them. Mainly because I’m the worst at these places. I hate fending off barely bikini-clad women that come over at a near once-a-minute pace, small talk for about 30 seconds, then ask if I’d like a dance. I’m simply too nice to go to a gentleman’s club. I really want to say, “No thanks. But it’s not YOU. You’re pretty. Don’t take it personally. Sorry.” They don’t care, they just want to move on to their next mark. But I apparently do.
I can’t figure it out. The concept is completely foreign to me. I find it hard to objectify women like that. Even though they want me to. They’re begging me to. Forget the fact that I hate parting with my hard-earned money for a couple of minutes of good views. That’s right purveyors of live adult entertainment, I don’t get you.
My friend generously bought me a lap dance. That was nice of him. I picked out a cute one and waited for her to come over. But she avoided me. So I decided to go over to her. Indeed, I asked a stripper for a lap dance. She agreed. (Yes!) We find a spot and she starts talking dirty and I start feeling awkward about it. Hands planted firmly at my side, I ask, “Are you ok, Nikita?” Nikita ignored me.
They seem to want to chit chat while this is going on. I don’t like to chit chat. I can’t stand it when the person cutting my hair wants to talk. But when I’m forced to, I default to the nurturing, kind sir that I am. “Have you given thought to your future?” “What do you want to do with your life?” “There’s always technical school.”
Their response is usually the same. “Do you want another dance?”
“Oh, no thanks. And thank you for the dance. Here is your money.”
Yes, this is all contrary to my claims of being an asshole. But I’m speaking the truth.