Went home for the weekend, and on the way back to the city the Boy and I decided to stop at a strip club near my town. We had had a few drinks while we were out to dinner (the most spectacular dinner I have had in a long time, I might add) and were both feeling a little frisky.

The club - or bar, rather - could not be more different than where I work. It was a dive. We knew what we were getting ourselves into, but still we were surprised. The stage was tiny, and was constructed out of what appeared to be particle board. They had maybe 5 girls on, and the quality actually wasn't completely terrible. I as expecting toothless crackheads. Okay, well maybe one of them fit that bill but we made sure to avoid her.

We couldn't have looked more unassuming. Him in a white polo, me in a crisp white tunic purchased at TJ's that day, dark skinny jeans, and leather flip flops. Flash forward to three vodka drinks and one kamikaze shot later, and with the Boy's encouragement I am being pulled on stage by a dancer we had gotten friendly with and stripped of my shirt. The guys went fucking nuts. I'm sure to them it looked like good, wholesome girl gets drunk and goes wild. Little did they know that it was just my night off.