The Consequences of Being an Approachable Woman in Las Vegas
Mislabeled in Sin City
The rotund older guy leaned in a lot closer, opened his lecherous mouth, and in a hushed tone uttered;
“ Are you a call girl?”
“What’s a call girl?” That was my loud reply as I quickly moved further away from him. Of course, I knew exactly what he meant but I wanted him to enunciate what he eagerly wanted to know.
He was quivering, obviously turned on at the thought of having some Borat sexy time with a “call girl” in the City of Lost Wages.
A quick look at the guy says he’s married. The ring on his left ring finger gives that away. His balding head and gray facial hair easily make him look like he’s in his mid to late 50s. While his jowls hang low, his protruding gut stretches out his purple shirt.
I believe it’s human nature to notice the worst in a person the moment they make you feel terribly uncomfortable.
That was a Saturday afternoon. I had just finished painting a room in the house when I got a message from a friend who was in town with her family. She wanted to meet up. We haven’t seen each other for a while so it was a wonderful idea to catch up in person.
