When my crew walks into a club, we check out the dance floor and line at the door and then the side bets begin. Seriously, it’s like our own little Vegas where the stakes are low, the percentage of gain is minimal, and there’s a huge possibility to lose your integrity.
This time the object bets were being placed on was: ME. Unknowingly, but not really because I knew, wagers were being made on whether or not I would “hookup” that night. Now, sure I’ve left the club with a stranger or two a few times in my life – okay, maybe more than a few, but do I consider myself a guarantee? Probably not. Apparently, my friends do.
The best gal-pal played it safe betting on no dirty business from my camp tonight – she also had insider info that swayed her decision. The guy friend begged to differ and placed his drink money on my scandalous dances moves expecting me to close.
Things were going well for my girl until about 1:30am when I, under the influence of too many vodka sodas, had to make my move. A bet’s a bet and just when she thought she was in the clear and had herself a win, I turned it all the way up and went in for the kill.
Guy Friend: 1
Everything’s fair when it comes booze and boys.