Tiny Dancer

Let's be clear: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas--until it gets blogged.

The new saying should be: Don't Get Blogged in Vegas, Dummy.

So Chris Cooper and I decided to repair to the local burlesque establishment, as we'd had enough of the gaming, which means gambling. There was a two-drink minimum so I ordered their finest waters, which came to 17 dollars for two petite bottles of tap. Chris got two beers (Schlitz, I believe) for 20. Heartily fortified and lightened, we were politely shown our seats before a long lonely runway.

The dark, smoky place was fairly empty, so two super hot dudes like ourselves attracted a lot of attention. Immediately on the catwalk before us lumbered a Garfield-sized lady who blearily read my shirt

and thought I was the cat's pajamas. I had gone back to discussing neo-Hegelianism with Chris when two ladies descended from harpy heaven and sat on either side of us. Chris had a blonde Russian lady, while I had a wild little minx from Columbia named Brigit. We kept saying we were here to enjoy our delicious beverages, but the ladies were having none of it. Brigit started to play with my butt chin, squeezing it and laughing.

"I love eet!"

"Uh... thanks."

She kept squishing my chin folds around in her hard Columbian fingers. Then she kissed my ear and neck and insisted we go have fun in the fun room, for fun.

"Neo-Hegelian--?"

"No, no, you looove it! Come, come! Coochie coochie!"

In the half-light, I half-surmised that Brigit was a tantalizing cross between Sophia Vergara, a muppet, and this lady

Being a big fan of variety shows, I finally agreed to be led away. "Hegel was a charlatan, anyway..."

Next to the VIP room was a scowling meathead who allowed us ingress to its velvety curtained darkness. There Chris and I were seated on the kind of cushioned bench you get on a rolly coaster. AND ROLL WE DID. Brigit started to climb all over me like a spider monkey looking for nuts, or for cash, or for nuts filled with cash. My sweaty hands, however, were to stay inside the vehicle at all times. The meathead scowled in at me periodically.

"Wheeeee! You like chee-chees?"

"I'm sorry?" I shouted over the techno music. "What? Your... qi?"

"Chee-chee!"

She slapped me in the face with them. Then she smashed her chee-chees so hard on my breathe-breathe that I almost passed out.

"Mmmm, I love you," Brigit said.

"Sure," I said.

Being of northern European stock, we don't say I love you until we've been married at least a couple of decades--and then only grudgingly. But I nodded as Brigit went on.

"I looove you, bebe!"

"Uh-huh. Right."

"No, I LOVE you!!!!"

"Mm?"

At last Brigit brought over a candle and lit up the romance placard that ran down the prices. Two dances was a hundred, a 1/2 hour was 300 dollars. She wanted the full hour for 600 dollars but I told her mi no gusta, no dollaro. Finally we settled on the 1/2 hour because I was in Vegas. And I had a boner with bone in it.

"Ooooh, such a muy banana!"

"And banana in Spanish means...?"

"Banana! Banana, muy grande!"

"Oh, we have that in English too!"

We were learning so much together. Then Brigit went back to slapping her chee-chees in my face. And riding on my lap. And poking my butt chin.

"Heh heh, this is great. (Ouch.)"

About ten minutes into my thrill ride, an older couple came in with a hefty stripper. Hefty started humping herself in the husky lady's lap. Husky and Hefty really started humping howlingly. Brigit grabbed my head and turned it back to her.

"You look at me, bebe!"

"Sure, Cootchie."

But I managed to wrench my neck around and saw that Chris had already left the love tent. Now it was just me being an idiot.

"You want more, bebe?"

"No, no, no." I straightened and tugged and staggered out of the room. Brigit followed me out, and Chris and I talked with her but turned down her demands for more money. She kissed me goodbye and told me she hoped to see me again. Then she gave my chin a last squeeze.

"Ow," I said. "My butt."

Oh, and Andy turned 50.