"I'll be back around 5:30 Tuesday. Have the Dancing Girls out by then. Love you. Bye!"
My wife left for the airport to visit friends and relatives over a long weekend. As always, she let me know when to have the Dancing Girls out of the house before her return. She doesn't like running into the Dancing Girls—it is definitely uncomfortable for everyone. Well, actually, it is definitely uncomfortable for my wife and me—the Dancing Girls seem pretty much oblivious to everyone else's feelings. As one would expect from Dancing Girls.
Dancing Girls are, as most everyone knows, usually youngish 20's, attractive, hedonistic, libidinous, self-absorbed—in a word, floozeriferous. (Floozeriferous: adj.: of, pertaining to, or exemplifying the characteristics of a floozy. Latin: fluzzerius-a-um. Cic: puella fluzzeria erat fluzzerium mulier). I have recently become disenchanted with the quality of the current Dancing Girls. I probably should not be surprised, but, nonetheless, I am disappointed. This feeling is the result of several visits from the Dancing Girls—most recently this weekend, but also April, July, and November of last year. A consistent pattern is emerging. I don't know if this is the result of a degradation in the abilities of the Dancing Girls themselves or, possibly, increasingly stringent expectations on my part. I suspect the latter.
Historically, (and this goes back decades) the five or six Dancing Girls would show up, we would drink a lot of beer, dance to old rock 'n roll, and have wild, kinky, multiple orgasmic sex. Pretty standard stuff. And in the old days, that seemed enough. They were always gone before my wife got home. She would ask about the Dancing Girls and, of course, I would give her a full report.
Lately, I have been re-examining this whole idea of Dancing Girls. Their inability to converse in sequiturs (as opposed to non) has always been a minor annoyance. But they are, after all, not really here for conversation, are they? Nonetheless, I have been getting a vaguely uneasy feeling that the transaction is out of whack, and I am not being fairly treated. I wanted to see what the Dancing Girls get and what I get, and see if it balances out. Here is my analysis:
Dancing Girls get:
- Free beer
- Scintillating conversation (even if they don't follow most of it)
- Toe-curlingly good sex (all gratis yours truly!)
So what do I get? This:
- Huge pile of empty Miller Lite cans
- House is a mess
- Giant wet spot on the sheets
- Three or maybe four mediocre orgasms.
See? Totally out of balance. So, I came up with a plan to at least put some equity back into the situation. It seems to me that my request was pretty reasonable and fair, and the Dancing Girls even agreed to it.
I asked them to help stack firewood before the usual orgy. In addition to getting some important home maintenance accomplished, I have always found that a good physical workout invariably increases both libido and stamina. The plan was that I would split the wood, and all they had to do was carry it over to the woodpile and stack it. Hardly any effort on their part, truth be told.
Well, after I had been splitting for 3 or 4 minutes, they announced that they were getting really hot (in the thermal sense, not the pheromone sense) and they were going to go into the house to get a cooler of beer to bring back. I kept splitting. About 20 minutes later they had not returned with the cooler of beer, so I went into the house. The TV was blaring in the bedroom and they were hootin' and hollerin'. I walked in—they were sitting on the bed, having already drained a 12-pack (and left some of the empties tipped over on the bed, by the way), eating chocolate covered almonds and watching reruns of Entertainment Today.
That was the last straw. I kicked them out. They complained tearfully that they hadn't even gotten laid yet, but I was unmoved and told them I was finished with them and their lackadaisical ways. If they can't even stack a little firewood before an orgy, who needs 'em. Good riddance, I say!
Dancing Girls these days!