Thursday, August 11, 2011
When our son CJ turned twenty-one his mother and I wanted to do something special for him. We didn’t want him to drink and drive, so we flew him and a buddy who’d already turned twenty-one to Las Vegas where they could celebrate without the need for wheels.
After checking into their hotel, our son’s buddy went to the concierge desk and said, “Today is my best friend’s twenty-first birthday. Can you suggest an interesting way for us to celebrate?”
The concierge said, “Dress in the best clothes you have and be in front of the hotel at ten p.m. I’ll send a limo to pick you up.”
So that’s what they did.
At ten p.m. they climbed into a limo that drove them out into the desert. Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of a swank gentlemen’s club where a doorman in an Armani suit ushered them in.
I won’t bore you with CJ's vivid descriptions, but I will say that his mother didn’t look pleased when he related what went on inside. She listened patiently while he bubbled over with enthusiasm for the well-endowed ladies, and when he finished she said, “I’m glad you had a nice birthday, but bear in mind that the breasts on those women aren’t real.”
The look on my wife’s face was priceless when our son said, “They sure felt real!”
P.S. This week I'm participating in Dude Write Starting Lineup.