Shoes Dancing Through Butter


 

Okay, let’s get down to it.  I promised in my last post the story of my favourite shoe occasion and my butter story.  This is it.  Hang on ’cause it gets lively!

Okay a brief recap.  I had shoe trauma which made me weird about shoes.  I found friends, Corrie and Kris, who shared this weirdness.  Not sure about the trauma part though. 

Before Kris got married or even met her loving fella, she had a hard time getting dates.  For one thing she was (is) the most physically breathtaking creature I have ever seen.  Men were actually afraid of her.  One told me he figured she wouldn’t even look at him. She had good reason for setting off that vibe.  For the other thing, she had an obsessive ex-husband who was a cop and woe to any man who looked at her.  They would find tickets on their cars for parking 18.2 inches from the curb or get a speeding ticket for going 52 km in a 50 km zone.  Never mind getting pulled over for “spot checks”.  So it was hard for Kris to date.  Between her beauty and the Bozo it was down right impossible.  Corrie and I were happy in our relationships (at the time) and wanted our most beautiful friend to be happy too.  For us that meant finding her a man, preferably the man of her dreams but we would be happy if she just got laid.

The 3 of us planned to go to bars and pick up men.  Just for Kris.  We would be her manager and screen out the obviously bad ones.  We took taxi’s because all of us planned on drinking.   So we went to a lounge first to get some liquid courage then called a cab (I’m totally making that up because I don’t remember what we did first).  In the cab (this is what I remember now) we asked the lovely man who drove the taxi what bar we could go to where we could have a really good time and maybe dance.  First he took us to the Palomino Club where the line was down the block and nobody was over 18.  We were older than that.  So our trusty taxi guy thought about it for a minute and said, with a very proud and surprised (?) look on his face, “I know where to take you!  Sit back.  Seat belts ON!”  We were almost giddy and couldn’t wait to see where he was taking us.  He was such a nice man.

It seemed to take forever to get there.  I kept saying “are we there yet?” thinking that was really clever.  Actually it took about 35 minutes, there were airplanes flying very low over our heads and if we took the time to notice the lack of cars we would have not let the lovely taxi guy go.  He waved at us merrily as we headed for the door.  I think he was counting our money.  And laughing?

We walked into the bar after asking directions at what I think was the front desk.  The lobby had fake, dusty palm trees and something smelled really funny.  And the guy there looked at us real funny.  He also looked at our boobs.  Blatantly.  We headed through the door he pointed to with his mouth and was met with pulsating light and loud, loud loud music.  At first we seemed to be the only ones there.  After our eyes were adjusted to the

BRIGHT                    low                                
                                                              BRIGHT                                       low 
 
                                BRIGHT                                      low                                 BRIGHT                                                      low
                                             BRIGHT

lights we found a table right by the dance floor.  We figured we were pretty lucky to get one.  Everyone wants to sit by the dance floor.  We 3 started to scope out the possibilities not realizing we had already caused quite a stir.  The place wasn’t empty like we thought.  There were men there.  And they were coming this way.

The first person we met was the waitress.  I like having a good relationship with waitresses because if they’re happy, so am I.  She looked at us funny too.  She didn’t look at our boobs though.  We could practically see hers.  Now there I go again, making stuff up.  I don’t remember if we had a waitress or not.  It seems logical that we did.  After our first drinks arrived, so did the first man.  He looked kinda nice but was kinda dirty.  I mean work dirty.  And he couldn’t take his eyes off our Kris.  I was all “Oh goody!” but, typical Krissy slumped down in her seat, hiding from the world.  NO no no, my dear, we have a mission.  The guy sat down and introduced himself between glugs of his bottle of beer.  We all shook hands.  Very civilized.

The next guy came over.  Staggered over and plunked himself beside me.  I think he passed out after I gave up trying to understand what he was saying.  And not to smell him.  Oh yeah, it was only 8:00.  So we kind of ignored him when along came another man.  He too was carrying a beer bottle and drank from it liberally.  He seemed to have taken quite a shine to Corrie.  He was sitting upright and was easy to understand. 

I’m getting to the shoes.  Just be patient. It means nothing without some background.

It gets a bit garbled for a bit but I do remember the Paralyzers, my favourite of all time.  After about 3 of these the DJ asked for judges for their contest.  Corrie immediately took the arm of the fellow who was by now openly staring at her nether regions.  And she was sitting down.  Quite a feat.  She raised his arm and he giggled like a little girl.  The DJ came over to us and asked us if we wanted to be judges.  Our guy giggled again and tried to order another beer from the DJ.  The DJ ignored him.  We all said sure we would love to!  Silly me thought to ask what we were judging.

Wet T-Shirt Contest.

Oh.  Where the hell were we?  I looked around the bar again.  Still pretty empty except for about 20 men and 4 women not counting us.  What bar was this?  Wet t-shirt contest?  And we were judging it?

“Corrie, what the hell do we do?  How do we do this.  Oh my GOD nobody from work could ever find out about this!”  She smiled that amazing smile at me.  “We can only judge what we know.”  I never wore a wet t-shirt so what the hell do I know about judging one?  Nothing at all.

Kris really brightened up.  “Marie,  what do we know best?  What do we have in common that we love?”

Shoes.

It was so simple.  We would judge the contestants based on their shoes.  Corrie’s arm candy thought that was very funny.  He said he would judge on their t!ts like normal.  Charming.  Nothing normal going on here.

Okay, big announcement and we were ready.  We were introduced which started a steady stream of drinks sent to our table.  Ah, bribes.  Okay, that I can handle.  The DJ said we were there to add a little class to the contest.  That’s when the comatose fella beside me threw up on his shoes.  Classy.

Out they came.  One at a time.  At first, all they did was dance around.  Big prize too; $100.  I think.  Not so bad.  Not a lot of footwear of note.  Except one woman.  Her’s were stunning.  Shoes, her shoes were stunning.

There seemed to be more drinks on the table then gals on the floor.  I was starting to get the hang of things in spite of the aroma of puke and drool on my shoulder from the fellow passed out on it.  There were 28 rounds. I think.  During each round  someone was eliminated.  No wait, make that clothing.  Clothing was being eliminated.  Eventually there were only 2 woman left.  Our girl with the spectacular…shoes and poor Robin.  Now I don’t know why I remember her name.  I just do.  You could tell she had never done this before and she wore Sneakers.  Dirty ones. 

A dance-off and the wet t-shirt part was coming up.  Oh dear.  Both women came out in white t-shirts and not much else.  They had a kiddie pool at their feet and used a sand pail to pour water all over the front of them.  They danced and splashed.  Our shoe-gal whipped around the floor, splashing everyone.  Now I could see this woman was a professional.  She ripped off that wet t-shirt and panties and frolicked naked across the floor and…and…shook them at us.  Corrie caught my eye and mouthed “the shoes” and pointed to the woman’s feet.  My focus was reinstated.  She was still wearing them.  Poor Robin did not fare so well.  The guys were yelling at her to “take it off”.  I didn’t want her to.  I also noticed the place was now packed.  With drunken, yelling, smelly men.  I think I was going blind.

It was humiliating watching Robin.  Finally it was over.  The DJ came over and explained how the judging went.  He had to be kidding me. There were actual rules.  We told him our table was only going by footwear.  The men sitting with us were leering and downright salivating.  Made us look like liars.  Couldn’t get them to remember footwear at all.  More men came to the table.  More drinks too.  Corrie and I gave up on screening out the bad ones.  They were all no good for our Kris.

Because of my overindulgence of liquor, including paralyzers, shooters and I even think a shot or 2 of tequila, I got to talking to the one who wanted Kris.  I tried to give him some dating advice which was useless.  In our conversation I let slip where we all worked.  Well I was bragging about it.  I was quite proud of what we did.  He seemed fascinated.  The paramour who had Corrie in his eye was also listening.  For the first and only time, Corrie slapped me really hard.  I didn’t know why. 

Okay, so you know already the one with the spectacular shoes won the $100.  She was happy and bought us more drinks.  I stopped drinking by then and was giving them away to the poor.  Along with the condoms I had in my purse.  We did a little outreach while we were there.

Now the ride home.  We called a taxi.  It was 2:00 in the morning and we were darn right tired.  We waited and waited.  Many offers from drunken men, putting their wedding rings back on, who wanted to drive us home but we didn’t go.  The DJ came out.  The lights in the bar were shutting off.  He offered us a ride too.  We told him it was okay, we called a cab.  He started to walk away but stopped and turned around.  “Cabs don’t come out here after 11” he said.  Holy whatthehellarewegonnadobatman!!??  By now is was past 3.  We called the cab company again but they wouldn’t come.  I gave in and called my fella.  He asked where we were.  I admit I didn’t know until Corrie found the sign.  “Bumpers” I said.  “BUMPERS!!??!” He practically shrieked.  “What are you doing there?  Do you know what that place is?”  I just said, “Honey, we are tired and really drunk and a man puked right beside me.  I just wanna get home.”  He would be there in an hour  he said.  An hour.  Yeah, apparently we were out by the airport.  K, I wonder how he knew about Bumpers?

All the way home I could not shut up.  I had so many stories to tell.  We all did.  That man drove everyone home.  He was a really good sport.  We got home about 5:00.  For some reason I needed a long, hot shower.  I finally shut up and went to sleep.

At work the following Monday, Nanci called us out to the lobby.  There they were.  The two guys.  Kris and Corrie’s aspiring beaus.  They were a little cleaner than when we last saw them and maybe a bit more sober too.  I couldn’t believe it.  Kris quickly got rid of her guy.  Really quickly.  Actually I think her ex was on his way to do a kid exchange.  Good thing the guy left.  Corrie’s suitor, well that was another story.  As I came through the lobby he was looking anxiously at her and all around him.  She shot me many dirty looks so bad it was like being slapped again.  But he did leave.  She gave me quite a talking to.  I think he came back once or twice but we told him she died.  Okay, not died.  I think Nanci talked to him.  That must have done it.  He never returned.

Okay that does it for shoe stories for a while.  I think I might write while pretending to be other people.  That should be good.  Always more exciting to be someone else.  Hopefully somebody makes me a paralyzer first.

Oh yeah.  We should have voted for Robin.  She could have gotten a nice pair of pumps for $100.

Oh.  Butter for another day.

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