Confessions of Friend*

In and out. Just do it as fast as you can.

I’ve always felt uncomfortable at those places. I chose the table furthest from the show and closest to the stairs. I would be an innocent bystander to the events occurring in the first rows and makeshift dance floor. If the amount of contempt I felt could be exchanged for a royal title… then, Empress Me at least.

At first I was in awe. How interesting people would actually choose to spend an evening here, dancing, eating and drinking. Jack-rabbit music, jack-rabbit dancing and most likely jack-rabbit mating.

I for one was not up for this. My insides scoffed over and over again. Fighting over whether it was nice to have a new experience or be repulsed by the way the men handled their women. Contempt over the way some would look at me. I certainly did not belong there.

The farthest I’ve ever been from feeling like a sociologist (imagining I was one). Rather I was a gossip columnist exposing the Kitsch getaway. Then I was repulsed by my own thoughts and feelings. It didn’t last long; I glanced over at a table where a big cheese held a private party on the veranda. I could feel the sleaze emanating from his greasy hair and robust waistline. Probably stuffed from the spoils of back alley deals and a random city official in his pocket. He was probably used to getting his way. I imagined how he would send his right hand to fetch a woman the same way he would have him fetch a sandwich.

I was eager to leave, eager to not touch nor be touched. WP_000038

This was not the rabbit-hole I wanted to go down. They seemed like a different species, where women are objects. They seemed appeased when the men danced with them. They dressed with skin tight blouses and pants. Hoop earrings and tightly curled jet black hair. The men gyrated, the women tried to keep up. The swankier moves came from the front and to the right. The man led the women in what seemed like erratic movements that had a repetitive sequence. His right arm was lifted high and above his head, bent back and hers laid over his. Together they looked like a psychotic swan turning into the air.

He asked for the check and laid my paper napkin next to his. The rest was a breeze. We were out of there, I was relived from my contempt. In a blink of an eye, I was home. It was over.

**From conversations with a friend.

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