So Dar and I were in Vegas this past weekend on one of our bi-monthly business of pleasure trips - and just to clarify, the operative word here is not "bi" - when we had a run in with a compulsively hygienic and seemingly innocent lady, otherwise known as the Prostitute Freaky Deaka.
We were posted up at the Venetian Hotel casino after a mesmerizing night at Tao watching men in wheelchairs dance/roll on their dubs with scantily clad women, getting fodder for our forthcoming dissertation titled "The Laws of Attraction: Over the Limit, Under the Influence, and Between the Sheets". Our eyes and Dar's feet would soon find out what these women were all about...
As we were sitting by the slots, or sluts as it turned out, waiting for our chaperone of a friend Bryan to cash in his poker chips, a posse of clubby looking deakas in their twenties approach us to admire our pink and black get-ups. We're all about female empowerment by means of boosting the confidence of other women, so we return the deakaments. Some harmless conversation ensues and soon thereafter, we have established that Dar and the soon to be anointed Prostitute Freaky Deaka lived in the same town in Cali a few years prior. During this most riveting of conversations, a person walks by and spills a drink on Dar's shoes, inciting the Deaka-stitute to have an utter deakdown. She incessantly asks Dar if she can wash her feet, but Dar is weary of the rub down. Eventually Dar gives in, so Deaka grabs her by the hand and brings her to a bathroom about a mile away.
Next thing you know Dar's sitting on a toilet while Prostitute Freaky Deaka and her Street-a-Deak Walking Crew are soaping Dar's feet and shoes, cleaning them from what looked to me to be a vodka soda, an elixir I generally use to clean stains.
All of a sudden we hear the sounds of walkie-talkies and male voices at the door. Our new D.B.F.'s (deaka best friends) seem startled. Four men in uniform enter bathroom and announce, "This is the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and we are responding to a call from the Venetian security force for two counts of trespassing and harassment."
Dar and I look at each other with bewilderment and terror. How did we manage to get the police on our tail in the most liberal of U.S. cities? And yes, tail turns out to be the operative word.
Three of the officers wrangle up the deakas while the remaining officer takes Dar and I to the side. He says, "Do you realize you're fraternizing with some of Vegas's finest hookers?"
Ok, I don't live under a rock but prostitutes? Really? I say, "I'm not trying to interject here but I think we were thrown for a loop by the fact that they were so concerned with cleanliness."
"Well you know what they say, "No glove, no love. No shampoo, no screw," he says with a wink.
With all this introspection of how the Vegas deaka-counter ensued, I don't think I can hold out from the bubbly much longer. But I suppose we should pour prudently into the flutes so there's no mess, in deference to the O.C.P. Prostitute Freaky Deaka.
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