Do As I Say Not As I Do

So J-Fed has been encouraging me to expand my horizons. He thinks I need to get a life. I thought I had one until he pointed it out.

“Your life has become so dull. You spend all of your time with the kids. Every weekend it’s a birthday party or a dance class or something. You do nothing,” he’d tell me. Oh dear J-Fed. Here I thought taking care of the children, working fulltime and taking them from one place to the next was “doing something,” but I guess I was wrong.

Mind you, this is all usually part of the schpiel where he informs me that it is time to move on with my life, as he’s moving on with his. Ah the old “it’s been real, it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun.” So in trued J-Fed fashion I decided to take him up on his advice.

On Friday night, my new running mate Jenny Law and I hit the down to meet up with another one of our cohorts. It wasn’t long before we were sipping drinks and talking about politics, religion and all of these other subjects that J-Fed and I never mulled over. Instead of “what’s for dinner,” it was “where do you like to eat?” It was a welcomed change.

Unfortunately, the meeting of the minds quickly grew tired of the dreary bar scene. Happy hour was not so happy once we all realized that we needed to find something far more mentally stimulating, especially since the night was still young. If I was going to paint the town red, I was going to do it right. So we put our heads together, and formed a plan of attack.

It wasn’t 30 minutes later when Jenny, myself and our other compadre found ourselves sitting in the midst of a flesh factory. That’s right, a gentleman’s club. And it wasn’t one of those seedy places either. It was smack across from a warehouse club and a shopping strip that housed a Home Depot and an Old Navy. I mean it doesn’t get much more suburbia than that.

Now, being that we reside in a town that probably has 25 booby traps within a 60 mile range, our choice of venue didn’t seem that surprising. Nudie joints were the new martini bar. That’s right. Come one, come all and check out the all naked review.

While I had been to one or two of these skin joints in my lifetime, I was always extremely intoxicated. It was usually extremely dark, and I always left my glasses in the car, thereby rendering me legally blind. On this occasion, none of these applied. I may have had a little bit of a buzz, but it quickly wore off the minute I stepped foot into “Katarina’s.”

I realize that strip clubs are supposed to be a turn on. However, after this experience I didn’t know if I could ever have sex again. I mean, there was something about this place that made me long for a hot shower, a cold glass of Crystal Light and an hour of Baby Einstein.

Because I had forgotten to take off my glasses, I found myself eye to eye with some quite naked girls, most of whom which probably had just started taking classes at the local community college. I shifted uneasily as I realized that in this brightly lit joint I had a lot of competition… and they were all naked. It appeared I wouldn’t be finding “the one” in this place. But the fun had only just begun.

There wasn’t a boy in a box. But for the love of God, there was a girl in a cage. And I’m not talking about a large cage you stand and dance in. I’m talking a dog kennel, like the kind my mother-in-law keeps her boxer in. There’s nothing quite as mind boggling as seeing a young girl stuffed into a cage… voluntarily. It was surreal to say the least.

Now, it wasn’t long before Jenny and our cohort were joined by a fourth party who we’ll call Johnny Law. Upon his arrival Johnny Law pointed out that he too had never been into Katarina’s – even though he passed it on his way to work every day. While Jenny and Johnny Law watched one of the girls meticulously balance off one of the bars upside down, they discussed the laws of gravity.

Meanwhile, I ventured off toward the bathroom before I found myself engaged in an entertaining conversation with the manager of the nudie review. He and I had a laugh or two when I informed him I was going to name my daughter “Katarina” until the day I drove by this place. He chuckled and then asked me what I thought of their new “fetish” night.

Suddenly, I had one of those moments, the kind where I realize I’ve been missing something. The whips, the chains, the cage… Ahhhhhh. It was all becoming clear. He explained to me that he was testing out different themes and tonight so happened to be S&M night. Well, wonders never ceased. I gave him my stamp of approval, even if I wasn’t really feeling the whole scene and excused myself. He shook my hand and promised to send over a round of drinks… which he later did.

The Fantastic Four continued to mingle for a couple more hours that seemed to fly by. And before I knew it, the night was over. As I rode home in the big yellow taxi, I realized I had expanded my horizons just as J-Fed told me to do.

Lying in bed the next morning nursing a wicked hangover from the 4 ½ beers I drank the night before, I decided that maybe the nightlife just wasn’t for me. When my mom Kuku appeared with a displeased look upon her face, I told her all about my evening – good conversation, good drinks and the girl in the cage.

“Basically, I blew $100 on food and alcohol. I ended up in a booby bar and I stayed out late as hell. Just call me K-Fed,” I told her.

And that’s when I realized that I was a big fat hypocrite. If J-Fed had done one or any of these things, I would have ridden his ass. Wasting money on beer and alcohol? Stupid, I’d tell him. Going to a nude review? Immature, I’d blast him. Had I heard that he had a night like this, I would have given him living hell, yet I believed it to be completely acceptable for me.

I felt a twinge of guilt as I realized J-Fed had been right. He always said in our marriage their had been two sets of rules – one for me and one for him. Maybe he was right.