The Breast Intention
All through the ‘90s I lived in Denver. I worked my day job, and was a dad through all of it and a husband through most of it. Once a week, however, for about four hours on either Thursday or Saturday, I hosted a karaoke show. I performed in a little hole-in-the-wall bar within crawling distance of my condo. I never had to crawl home, but it was always good to know that I could.
The nights usually started slow, but around 10:00, I generally had a kick-ass show going on. The rotation was ten to fifteen people, and I acquired a small following over the years. You meet people from all walks of life in a bar. One time, Dante Bichette, the center field baseball player for the Colorado Rockies walked in the bar and played foosball with some of the lowly commoners. It was pretty cool.
One night I was about to wrap up the show. It was 12:45 a.m. and I had a mass of people who wanted to sing. A lot of them were going to be disappointed. A hot scantily clad (ahem!) lady along with two ... “guy friends” walked in. She wrote her name and a song number on a slip and handed it to me. She said, in a most flirtatious voice, “Can I sing next?”
I replied, “Well, no. I’m sorry. You can see I have a ton of slips here, and the show ends in fifteen minutes. Sorry hon. Come back next week.”
With her back to the crowded dance floor, she faced me, lifted her shirt, and exposed two of the most magnificent breasts I had seen since the last time I saw two magnificent breasts like that, and said again, in a most flirtatious voice, “Can I sing next?”
Did you ever see Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation? Remember when he was checking out the lingerie attendant as she was showing off her thigh, and then his son walks in on him? Remember the surprised look on his face? That’s probably what I looked like.
“Uuuuuh ... sure... You can sing next.” And she did.
