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Focus on the mayo, not the broccoli

When I was in my early twenties, and of a clubbing mentality, I would frequent a local dance club that catered mainly to the gay male of our species, and played the best club music around. As a straight female, this was a pretty safe place to hang as long as one was comfortable with co-ed bathrooms and all that implied in a gay dance club. Sure, my wardrobe probably wasn’t up to standard, but I could bust a move, and as long as I was allowed to pee in peace all was good.

One evening my to-be-husband and I decided to take our then roommate to this club, forgetting it was male stripper/dancer night.

Oi vey.

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