Tales from Da Club #57:

I SAID YES!

LOL. I’m just kidding, guys; calm down. Why the fuck would I do that to myself?

This ring was actually given to me last night by one of my clients, a middle eastern man claiming to be a jeweler from Dubai who recently opened a jewelry store here in Austin. He says it’s a 1.5 karat diamond.

If that’s true, I definitely earned it. When I danced for him, he became really aggressive, pinning me to the seat inside the cabana when the dances were over and not letting me leave. At one point, he grabbed me and bit my lips so hard that I tasted blood. I wondered if was going to have the call the manager in order to escape mostly unscathed.

I finally freed myself and walked back to the dressing room feeling mauled. My lips swelled so much that I spent the rest of the night looking like the love child of a monkey and Kim Kardashian.

I definitely do not want this ring. 

He gave it to me like, “. . . I want you to have this.” >gets all shy< “I mean, if you want it.”

Oh, yes, honey, mama wants. Mama wants to resell it, that is.

As someone who genuinely prefers jewelry of the big, gaudy and cheap sort, I have no clue how to judge its worth. When I texted my partner about it, he asked, “How do you know it’s the real thing and not something he got from a twenty-five cent toy dispenser?”

Well, darling, I don’t. I’mma have to take you to dinner at either McDonald’s or Red Lobster, depending. 

It looks nice enough that if some slightly reluctant man ever popped the question under pressure from his super squealy basic bitch of a girlfriend and gave her this thing, she’d probably proudly wave it around to all of her equally squealy best buds and feel really superior to all of her single friends until one of them came along with an even bigger rock. Because in societies with unfettered capitalism, it’s not love unless love = huge debt, environmental degradation, the violation of the human rights of poor people and the revival of patriarchal traditions. 

Meanwhile, there I was in the dressing room, reapplying lipstick to lips twice their size, wondering how hard it is to unload fine jewelry and feeling happy to be going home alone. Mostly unscathed.

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