Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Since when did night clubs turn into brothels covered in glitter....
Last weekend, I went out clubbing, and despite the fact I was quite heavily under the influence of a delicious bottle of Pinot (my lifelong love affair), I still had enough active brain cells to look around me and tut like a 65 year old. My gosh, I thought to myself, this place is the closest to a brothel I've ever been in, just a bit more glittery, with louder music, and of course (before you all get the wrong impression of my gorgeous hometown), without the actual prostitution.
Seriously ladies, when did we all start forgetting to leave something up to the imagination? One girl had a hot pink top so low, that I'm sure her nipples were bobbing along to 'Don't stop believing.' And behind me, a girl in a pretty paraletic state was wearing a long top as a dress (not a wise move), and seemed to think that the queue of guys ogling her were simply just appreciating her flirty dance moves. And across the room, a girl who looked like she wasn't even old enough to be playing the lottery, let alone getting into clubs, was straddling a walking advert for Nike, while he clamped his grubby hands on her bum and dry-humped her on full view for anyone that was watching. Which was, unfortunately, me.
It saddened me, as these were beautiful, fun, fearless girls, who could work what their mumma gave 'em in a classier way, and get the positive attention that they truly deserved. And where on earth did chivalry go?! What happened to those days where smart men would approach pretty ladies and ask for a 'waltz' instead of a bl*w job?
I do understand, that times have changed, and although my values are more in sync with my Grandma's, I appreciate that this is the 21st century, and that I am part of a sexually charged, party-mad generation. And don't get me wrong, I love singing along to the endless candid songs that turn the dance floor into a weird grinding frenzy (please note, I'm usually the girl whacking out the joke dance moves in the corner), I love attempting a cheeky wink at the gorgeous barman, and I love listening to awful chat-up lines and occasionally swapping numbers with the guy I talked about gherkins with in the kebab shop. I love attention just as much as every other girl that gets glammed up on a Saturday night, but I much prefer to get it because I look feminine, sophisticated, and, in drunk male terms, like a bit more of a challenge.
And the moral of this story is, its much more effective, and more pleasant for everyone (the smug looking chav in the corner who keeps his only brain cell in his boxers not included), to tease with a hint of cleavage and an amazing perfume, then let a pair of dancing nipples give everything away!
And that folks, is all for now. Link me to pictures of some of your classier night-on-the-town outfits, I'd love to see them!