The manchowder and I rarely get our solo hang time. There's a real shortage of babysitters who are available on weekend nights and we don't have family living close to us (insert long, horse-like poopy face). But last night, we finally made it out into the world. We chowed down an array of vegetables and fish, perused shelves at Powells and finished off the night at Mary's, a classic strip joint in the heart of downtown Portland. As we perched on our stools, directly in front of a micro stage where naked skin shimmied and stretched into pornogami, a few things came tumbling out of my mouth:
I haven't been here since I was pregnant.
Oh, I see why they clean that pole off so frequently.
I'm not sure I can avoid smelling her vagina. Or her ass.
She's playing air guitar with her vagina!
Her vagina is all over the place.
Those underwear have seen better times.
I guess I never thought about it before, but that pole obviously symbolizes a giant penis.
She reminds me of the buff ladies in bootcamp class.
That guy ogling her over there looks like a horny zombie. Should I throw something at him to wake him up?
