I answered Aunt Daisy’s request for an idea to help celebrate her 84th birthday. Soon after, I got a reply from her:
Your suggestion about goin’ to a male strip club was just the ticket!
Ishawan, my boss and editor of the newspaper I work for, and the girls at the office jumped at the idea. The nearest club was 150 miles away so Ishawana declared it would be an overnight. She booked rooms at the Motel 8.
Grady and the men at the paper, bein’ the true cowpokes they are, offered to hold down the fort bein’ it was for my birthday. That was a swell present right there.
After work, we squeezed into Ishawana’s van and took to the road. She turned on her music good and loud, and we sang along. To get in the party mood, we started singin’ “100 Bottles of Wine on The Wall.” It was a premonition.
Tellin’ jokes and laughin’ our heads off, we turned into the Motel 8, checked in, and got into our party duds before the show started at the Peek-A-Boo Club, next door.
We sat by the stage and ordered cocktails. The lights went off. Then – BAM! The poundin’ of the music started, lights flashed, the mirror ball turned, and smoke started pourin’ out. The Peek-A-Boo Dudes busted out to screams from the women.
Not a one was over thirty but I wasn’t shoppin’, just lookin’. Besides, Grady, who I’m sweet on, stuck in my mind like a burr under a saddle.
The Dudes twisted and gyrated and started flingin’ off their clothes, and the boys were GORGEOUS! Whoa, Sylvia, they were a sight for sore eyes! Muscles and bulges in all the right places – eye candy with no calories. One caught my eye and he gave me wink-wink. Hair black as coal, eyes soft and brown and the whitest smile! I felt a bitty thrill go through me and thought, “Now, Daisy! You cut that out!” I swore never to fall for a man under forty again and this colt was well under thirty. “Down Daisy!!!”
While the girls were stuffin’ the Dudes’ g-strings with bills (well, o.k. I was stuffin’ the colt’s string) he bent down real sexy-like and slipped me a card. Was I ever flummoxed! Me, at 84!
I tucked the card into the pocket next to my heart where it started burnin’ a hole. As soon as I could, without the girls noticin’, I took a peek. His name was Pepe. You know my weakness for Latino men.
When the show was over, we went back to Ishawana’s room and ordered three large pizzas with everythin’. They tasted real good with the wine. The girls brought out gift bags. They had chipped in and bought me an expensive bottle of perfume, scented candles and sexy underwear. Their card said, “Happy Birthday Aunt Daisy, our inspiration.” That brought a tear to my eye. I never thought of myself like that. I was just bein’ Daisy.
There was a real sweet card from Grady and the boys in the office. It had little red heart-shaped balloons on it.
By this time, we’d drunk enough wine to fill a barrel. When Ishawana saw the card, she started cryin’. “I do love that man!” She touched Grady’s signature real tender-like. The other girls are all hitched but Ishawana isn’t. She had fallen for Grady like a cowgirl bucked from a bronco. Right then, I decided to stop flirtin’ with Grady. A cowgirl rule is you never steal another cowgirl’s man.
The next mornin’ our heads felt big as the Western sky and twice as stormy but we managed to down a river of coffee.
When we drove home, we were in a mellow mood and Ishawana bein’ the choir director at the Baptist church sang some real pretty hymns. I told the girls how blessed I felt and thanked them for the best birthday.
I touched Pepe’s card next to my heart. It’s not over ‘til the last sunset!
Aunt Daisy, how true!
Dear Readers — Thanks for sticking with me for these archival posts. As you know, I’m working on editing my novel PINOCCHIO ISLAND and that takes a lot of time. So for now, I hope you enjoy re-reading these posts and if you haven’t read them yet, enjoy!