Friday Night Frolics

I’ve only just recovered sufficiently to blog about Friday night, but in the words of The Four Seasons, ‘Oh, What a Night!’.

We met our good friends in an Indian restaurant in town (that none of us have been to for at least a decade) and sat in a booth, no less.  The meal was great and copious amounts of alcohol were drunk, which may be the reason that upon leaving, we collectively decided to go to the new pole dancing club in town, much to the amazement of our husbands.

After paying £19 for four drinks we sat in another booth (there’s a theme emerging) and proceeded to watch young girls in bits of material about as substantial as tooth floss writhing and contorting around a pole.  Whilst our husbands wiped the dribble off their chins, my friend and I objectively assessed each dancer, on firmness of thighs and buttocks, variety of techniques, flexibility and whether we ‘would’ or not (only joking about the last one; this was just our husbands’ fantasy).

One of the girls (no doubt having noticed our enthusiasm/drunkeness) came and sat with us.  We chatted animatedly with her and complimented her prowess with a pole before leaving, only realising in hindsight that she was probably looking to give us a ‘private dance’.  (She’d obviously overestimated the enthusiasm and underestimated the drunkeness.)

We then paid to get into a pub and sat in…OK, I don’t need to tell you…and had a marginally cheaper drink.  My friend and I visited the ladies and had a conversation about how much we love each other (‘No, you don’t understand.  I REALLY love you’) before moving onto a ‘nightclub’ (for want of a better word) and busting some moves (or so I thought, until my friend broke it to me that we were actually doing drunk ‘mum dancing’).

I apparently had my eyes closed, which I thought made me look ‘in the zone’ and ‘feeling the music’ but was more likely because I couldn’t focus too well at that point.  My husband said he knew I was drunk when he asked what I wanted to drink and I slurred, with a wild and sweeping arm gesture, ‘surprise me!’.

It was approaching midnight (when everyone knows that parents turn into pumpkins) so we left and said our goodbyes at the taxi rank; at which point my friend noted that my husband has particularly sumptuous earlobes…and decided to bite one, which at the time seemed a perfectly rational and reasonable thing to do (his earlobes are VERY nice).

Needless to say I fell asleep on the sofa when we got in and woke up fully clothed and makeuped, with a banging head and a mouth like the bottom of a hamster’s cage…but it was SOOO worth it! 😉