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Chip and Dale

I have traveled to Las Vegas twice in my life.  The first time was the MLK holiday weekend right after I turned 21, and the second time was this week.  Both of these trips were with my parents.  My best friend and I have both decided to host our bachlorette parties in Vegas someday and let me tell you now: they will be nothing like these previous two trips.  Except for one thing.

On Monday evening, I saw the Chippendales with my mother.

My mother, who describes having sex as “screwing.”  My mother, who remarks “yeah, anything for a screw” every time she hears a guy say that he loves a girl during sex on television.  My mother, who describes making out as “sucking face” or a “rubdown.”  My mother, who proclaims anyone who is having sex before marriage as being “used” and emphasizes how sorry she is for them.  And I saw the Chippendales with this woman.  Not by choice.

I think she secretly wanted to see them; for two weeks leading up to the trip she mentioned it almost daily: “are you sure you don’t want to go see the Chippendales?” she would ask, after I had originally said I had never heard of them.  “I’ll go if you want to go see them,” she would add.  Finally, on our last day of the trip, we had no shows planned, and she goes “well, there’s always the Chippendales.”  I reply “I’d rather go see that with Katelyn than with my mother.”  She promptly bought tickets while I was in the shower.

Not just any tickets.  When we arrived I walked in horror to our spot on the front row.

In all fairness, we were surrounded by old ladies and the men were amazingly hot (especially the one in whose lap I got to sit for a picture).  And, my mom was one of the first to get a partial lap dance from one of the guys who ironically looked like my cousin Greg.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her face so red, and we were in the darkness of the theater.

However, this all could have turned out much, much worse.  I could have been one of the girls they chose to go on-stage.  Then I would have gotten to either perform a lap dance, demonstrate my favorite sexual position, or show my most creative way to apply a condom on a strategically placed banana.  And the fact that I can do all three would have TOTALLY ruined the evening.

But I guess it could have been worse.  One of the girls who was chosen to go onstage was not wearing underwear.  How do I know this?  When she squatted down with her legs spread to put on a guy’s underwear with her teeth, I got a great view of her vagina.  Especially from the front row.

Chippendales

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