I wish the zits that grew on my face and the cellulite spreading across my thighs weren’t so bent on world domination. My zits grow so large it’s like they’re thinking, “First her face, then the world!”

The cellulite I don’t mind as much. It appears to be more of an assroots movement, an aggressive but collective effort that would be much more my style were it not waging a coup d’etat on MY assets.

I’ve taken to wearing fishnets a lot these days. They are so good at camouflaging cellulite that I’m surprised they aren’t a mainstream fashion staple for all women over 35. In my opinion, they should be. 

Fishnets in da club are kind of a pain. They snag on EVERYTHING. However, they act as a sort of super hot chastity belt preventing wandering fingers from creeping into my underwear, thus reducing the number of times I wanna throat punch some asshole. For that reason, I’ll gladly put up with few snags.

These are the ones I bought, because I like having extras. A plus for me: if you click the image below and buy these fishnets, I get, like thirty-seven cents. So, click away, people. CLICK. AWAY.

(Now you understand why I started this blog: to get rich off you people.)

All was somewhat quiet in da club this weekend, except for when I was dancing onstage and turned around to see Jose standing at the edge with a beautiful woman in tow, waiting to tip me.

I’d never met Jose in real life, but I immediately recognized him as some guy I’d met on Tinder last year. We had exchanged several texts and arranged to meet up, but I flaked. He kept texting me. I never responded, and eventually he gave up.

After the dance, I went to the bathroom to find the beautiful woman washing her hands in the sink, and a gush-fest immediately ensued.

“You are so lovely!” she said.

“Oh, my gosh! You are too!” I said. “Thank you so much for the tip from you and your . . . boyfriend?”

“Fiance,” she said with a big smile.

“Fiance! Congratulations! How long have you been engaged?”

“He proposed to me at Christmas!” She proudly showed me her ring, which I dutifully cooed over. I was pretty certain I’d received her fiance’s last text in December. 

“We think you’re sooo pretty!” she exclaimed. “Can I buy you for our table?”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said yes immediately. It sounded promising.

Her name was Claudia, and she wanted to flaunt me in front her fiance and all his friends. I danced for her, but she put on more of a show than I did, making a point to squeeze my ass very firmly and lick my nipples verrrrry slowly.

People, do not ever lick a dancer’s nipples at the strip club. You have NO IDEA how many people were there before you. 

Jose and his friends were very happy with Claudia and me. I wondered if he recognized me. 

I found out later that he definitely did:

 

Isn’t it so gratifying when you realize you dodged a bullet?

I liked Claudia, though. I hope he makes her happy.