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Strange things happen on family holidays, but most of them involve weird relatives. Not this one. I was visiting my sister in Texas when both of my sisters, my brother-in-law and I all decided to take a night on the town. Dallas has a lot to offer in the way of nightlife, so we hopped our way through a couple bars, taking in bottle service all the way, (it’s okay to be jealous) but that’s as far as the normal goes and where the weird begins. Almost unsurprisingly, we ended up at the world renowned Spearmint Rhino. That’s right, a strip club… With my sisters…

Like any self-respecting businessman, my brother-in-law has entertained many a client at the Rhino, so, naturally, the club managers and dancers were rather fond of him. Every dancer in the place made a beeline for our table. We had our pick of the litter; whichever girl we wanted. Probably not the best plan for a guy like me in a new and exotic place. You see, southern girls aren’t like those in the rest of the country, especially the ones in Texas. A ten in most other places is lucky to be a five down there.  That’s when my sister leaned over to me and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Pick one. You’re getting a dance.” Astounded, I scanned the room for the girl I wanted. I just couldn’t pick. Which one should it be? Then, she came to me. Long, dark hair; black framed glasses; a body to die for. Perfection. After a minute of talking, and no negotiation whatsoever, we were off to enjoy a lap dance… or two. One of these things would prove to be my, or her, biggest mistake of the night.

The raven-haired vixen led me to a private room where she proceeded to (pretend to) care about everything about me while she ground her hips into my pelvis and her breasts into my face. I learned a lot about her too. She was from Michigan, didn’t want to be a stripper, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and she didn’t talk to her family at all. Why she thought I cared about anything beyond her assets was beyond me. I certainly didn’t ask about them. And how I remember these things but have no idea what her name is comes as more of a mystery, really. The first song ended and she offered me another dance. I wasn’t paying for it so I figured, “Why the hell not?” I’m a red-blooded, American male. I wasn’t turning down a lap dance from a beautiful dancer no matter how much she talked. Hell, it’s in my genes to tune her out anyway.

Exit private area, and head back to the table for payment. The dancer turned to my sister and asked for $50, $25 per dance. Wide eyed, my sister said to her, “Oh hell no, sweetie! You dance for $10 every other day, so that’s what you’re getting today!” This also happens to be the time said dancer made perhaps the biggest mistake of her evening, turning to me to ask rather loudly, “Why is she being such a bitch?” That, my friends, is where the shit hit the fan.

Let’s go back for just a second and remember that my brother-in-law is a very loyal customer to the Rhino, so he knows all of the managers and several of the dancers very well. When the manager saw the commotion by our table, he flew over to find out what was happening, only to side with us. He then assured us that there was no way we’d see her next time we came in. The dancer took her $20 plus a tip and skulked away while my sister sat back down with a smug smile, knowing she just won the battle of the bitches. Turns out that JB isn’t the biggest asshole in the family after all. And that, my friends, is how I watched a stripper get fired and also the proper way how (not) to get down in the Big D.

 

thebigd

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