When I arrived in Las Vegas for a conference, little did I know something so small would leave such a lasting impression. I was staying at The Rio for a tradeshow that would naturally offer the wisdom of the ages for the low, low price of $1,500 and provide three complimentary drink tickets. Since this was the fourth time this year to attend such an event in Sin City I, along with several road friends, made plans to head for dinner and drinks at Caesars immediately following our “networking reception” in a limo to avoid the crowd.
Dinner was fabulous, but once it ended we thought it would be best to go back to The Rio to continue our night of debauchery. However, since we were a group too large to fit into one cab, we chose to split up temporarily with plans to meet back at the bar. The other group arrived a few moments before mine did and immediately made a discovery. Upon exiting the revolving door, my friend John Michael greeted me with a fantastic grin on his face and an outstretched hand. In it was the prize discovered moments before … on the floor of the bar. It was a delightful little blonde hair extension resembling a pony tail. He begged me to adorn for the crowd to see as I entered. But there was a small problem, my scalp sneaks up me more every hour, and with my remaining hair being cross-populated with browns and grays, this frosty accessory would clearly not be an item easily blended. I thought about attaching it to the base of my hairline to relive my rat tail glory days, but instead chose another location.
Seeing the hair extension was approximately eight inches long and three inches wide, it would clearly make a perfect accessory for my crotch area. I immediately attached it to my belt, dubbed it my Crotch Pony and swaggered into the bar with my blonde bonus swinging low.
In the bar I reconnected with my friends from dinner. Sure enough, they all howled at the sight of my new addition and the fact that I had named it. We then spent quite a bit of time discussing who in the room could have possibly parted with such a prize. We saw far too many blonde and blonde-like ladies in the room but determined the ponytail must belong to one special lady standing about ten feet from us. That’s when it happened.
I heard a voice beside me say, “Is that my hair extension on your crotch?” I gave her a quick glance and replied, “I doubt it. It doesn’t even match your doo.” She then replied, “No, seriously, I know it has to be mine. I drop those things all the time. Damn!” As I stood there with a look of what I’m sure was a look riddled with confusion, horror, and disgust, I wondered how many of “those things” she owns. Just then she discovered the location of her missing man-made mane and reached out and snatched Crotch Pony right off of me. Oh no she didn’t! The crowd around me was frozen.
Immediately we knew it had to belong to her. It was a perfect match. How could we have missed her in our quest for clarity of ownership? I was about to ask why the hell she had so many hair extensions in the first place when she announced to me, and the rest of the crowd, that she has lupus and as a result her thin hair requires extensions to make her hair look full. Again, crowd frozen, my mouth was agape. How could I have placed this poor woman’s lupus lock on my crotch for the sake of a good laugh only to have her rip it from my loins and snap it back in place on her skull?
