Last night SB and I met up with several of our hotelie friends. Most of them work for, or have previously worked for a man who owns a hotel consulting firm. He seems to be an ideal boss, and most of the office staff enjoy spending time with him outside of the office. I have had bosses who I have really liked but unfortunately those days seem so long ago. On several occasions while with the hotelie gang I have wished that I were a hotelie also. The majority of the staff are young, attractively dressed women, much like the makeup of the Cornell hotel school. After dinner we decided to go dancing and the few men in the group disappeared, leaving the boss and four women. SB and I followed them as they inspected the various bars in Soho and were amused to see the reactions of patrons and bar staff when the boss walked in with a fashionable harem.
The most stylish and senior member of the ladies wanted to go to a club which had a entrance that looked like a giant set of lips. As she was gliding toward the entrance we were informed that this very exclusive club required an admission stamp from a hostess who resembled a fashion model. She looked over our group and I could see the conflict on her face. A respectable gentleman, four beautiful ladies, me in a nice evening outfit but without makeup or heels, and SB who I think cuts an attractive figure but was wearing Keens with his slacks and shirt. "we don't usually allow sandals," she finally murmured to SB. And then she paused. We weren't outright rejected, I realized but I wasn't willing to beg her for entrance either. The senior woman in our group solved the dilemma by turning her head and sweeping herself away in as regal a manner as one can affect when exiting out of a giant pair of lips.
I paid more attention on the way out than I did on the way in and noticed that most of the patrons were beautiful. Also, the advantage that we would normally have with a large party of good looking women was lost there because unlike the other clubs, the majority comprised females- willowy, immaculately made up females in cocktail dresses and sky high pumps. Who would have known that paradise was behind a giant pair of lips?
Back in the youthful days, creepy men used to try to pick you up by sneaking up behind you when you were dancing and then start humping you while pretending not to realize the very close proximity. It was somehow considered to be an acceptable mating ritual and one rejected the suitor by moving forward out of range from the pelvic thrusts, all while pretending not to notice him. The suitor then would attempt to hump all the other girls in the group before moving on to greener pastures somewhere else in the club. Last night I observed a new phenomenon. A man appeared to accidentally wander into the middle of our group while typing on his phone. He then planted himself between two of the ladies and proceeded to scroll through his very large phone for the next couple songs while shaking his hips in the direction of one of the ladies. There were a few problems with this approach, the main one being that he never engaged in contact with anyone in our group despite deliberately parking himself in our midst. And the phone light was not particularly flattering. We noticed a few other men dancing with their iPhones in hand and lit up on themselves. Perhaps someone should invent a phone app that emits a more flattering light for any peacock who hopes to spotlight himself on a dance floor. Or maybe the application could project an image of George Clooney onto his face. I know of a few women who would buy that app.
The most stylish and senior member of the ladies wanted to go to a club which had a entrance that looked like a giant set of lips. As she was gliding toward the entrance we were informed that this very exclusive club required an admission stamp from a hostess who resembled a fashion model. She looked over our group and I could see the conflict on her face. A respectable gentleman, four beautiful ladies, me in a nice evening outfit but without makeup or heels, and SB who I think cuts an attractive figure but was wearing Keens with his slacks and shirt. "we don't usually allow sandals," she finally murmured to SB. And then she paused. We weren't outright rejected, I realized but I wasn't willing to beg her for entrance either. The senior woman in our group solved the dilemma by turning her head and sweeping herself away in as regal a manner as one can affect when exiting out of a giant pair of lips.
I paid more attention on the way out than I did on the way in and noticed that most of the patrons were beautiful. Also, the advantage that we would normally have with a large party of good looking women was lost there because unlike the other clubs, the majority comprised females- willowy, immaculately made up females in cocktail dresses and sky high pumps. Who would have known that paradise was behind a giant pair of lips?
Back in the youthful days, creepy men used to try to pick you up by sneaking up behind you when you were dancing and then start humping you while pretending not to realize the very close proximity. It was somehow considered to be an acceptable mating ritual and one rejected the suitor by moving forward out of range from the pelvic thrusts, all while pretending not to notice him. The suitor then would attempt to hump all the other girls in the group before moving on to greener pastures somewhere else in the club. Last night I observed a new phenomenon. A man appeared to accidentally wander into the middle of our group while typing on his phone. He then planted himself between two of the ladies and proceeded to scroll through his very large phone for the next couple songs while shaking his hips in the direction of one of the ladies. There were a few problems with this approach, the main one being that he never engaged in contact with anyone in our group despite deliberately parking himself in our midst. And the phone light was not particularly flattering. We noticed a few other men dancing with their iPhones in hand and lit up on themselves. Perhaps someone should invent a phone app that emits a more flattering light for any peacock who hopes to spotlight himself on a dance floor. Or maybe the application could project an image of George Clooney onto his face. I know of a few women who would buy that app.
Comments