I was playing golf the other day (with andy and his dad at the Indian casino golf course) when it started looking fairly menacing outside. We went into the casino for a few adult beverages. Whilst there, a few “ladies in waiting” at the bar decided to “strike up some small talk” with me. Joy.
Classy lady 1 and 2 wish they were cougars. They are not cougars. They are not pumas. They are the older, uglier versions of busom bodies without the style sense.
Exchange:
Classy lady 1-“you here playing poker?”
me--“no”
Classy lady 1-“what are you up to good looking”
Classy lady 2-“yah, good looking, what are you up to”
me--“nothing. (trying hard to be polite yet ‘unresponsive’) It was raining, so we came inside till it lets up.”
classy lady 1-“oohh, he is a golfer. You a golfer?”
Thinking: [how long does it take to get 3 draws of budlight]
[is that a denim vest with a cowgirl stitched on it? Maybe...of course there is the off chance the cowgirl was ironed on…never rule that out]
[where the hell is Andy...oh...right there smiling and enjoying the show]
me--“yes, we were playing golf.”
Classy lady 1--“it’s raining men….hallelujah…it’s raining men…”
me--[now reaching to grab three draws, obviously two with one hand]
Classy lady 1--“wow, you see that? He is got big hands!”
Classy lady 2—“damn right I see that. Were you a bartender, you are damn good with them hands.”
Me--“thanks.”
Looking over at Andy with limitless contempt as I leave the bar. I drank much slower than usual that day.
Classy lady 1--“it’s raining men….hallelujah…it’s raining men…”
me--[now reaching to grab three draws, obviously two with one hand]
Classy lady 1--“wow, you see that? He is got big hands!”
Classy lady 2—“damn right I see that. Were you a bartender, you are damn good with them hands.”
Me--“thanks.”
Looking over at Andy with limitless contempt as I leave the bar. I drank much slower than usual that day.
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