I went to this horrible bar last night because my roomy wanted to get with this one girl. This is always the start to a bad night, and this is no exception. We get to the bar to discover that we are intruding on a “Girls’ Night Out.” Translation: “A bunch of us are going to get dolled up the best we can possibly look, with our hair done, our newest outfit with our tits on display, but what we DON’T want is any guys talking to us. Our goal is to draw massive amounts of attention to ourselves, but fight off the advances of the hordes of men who try to hit on us. The best way for us to catch up with old friends is to dance seductively with one another. Talking? No way. My old friends and I can pick up right where we left off in college when she grinds herself on my crotch or when I slowly sink down to the floor and put my face in her crotch.”
Would you believe that one of these girls actually asked me to tell a guy to leave who sat down at the table with them? Hey, I barely know you girls. I’m not about to get my ass kicked because you decided to get dressed up and draw attention to yourself at a bar that brings in every stripe-shirted hardass in Chicago.
The guy that was the biggest hit was my engaged friend. These girls were ALL over him. Hey, he’s engaged, so the threat of him coming on to you is lowered, especially when his bride-to-be is in the room, but has it occurred to these women that chicks all on his jammy might make him have thoughts about the whole one woman for the rest of his life thing? Hey, never mind that. This is Girls Night Out! So, he’s dancing with his bride-to-be’s sister, and she gets behind him, reaches around him, and fondles his man-boobies. Shortly there after, he gets behind her, reaches around, and feels her woman-boobies. This led to bride to be hollering at him and storming out. Now, I don’t happen to have man-boobies, but if I did, I’m pretty sure I’d be self-conscious of them. I certainly wouldn’t want a chick trying to tune-in-Tokyo (movie reference?) in front of everyone, including a bunch of good-looking girls.* BECAUSE, I believe I’d be sensitive about something like this, I can’t say I’d blame a guy for thinking, “Fuck you. You’re grabbing my boobies, I’m grabbing yours.” I guess when it’s your bride-to-be’s sister, one has to keep those automatic thoughts and gut reactions in check. I remember him saying, over and over, "I think I'm in trouble." Gee, you think? I will say it made for some fun people watching and good blog fodder. Okay, I have to do some push-ups so that, God willing, I never have to discover how I’d react in that situation . . .
*Just as I was typing this, man-booby guy called me! It’s really strange because we don’t know each other that well, so it’s not that likely that he’d call me right as I type about his rather embarrassing affliction. I feel really bad now, and I have to be sure he never gets my blog address.