Five dolla make you holla.

So, this past weekend BF and I went to a bar (imagine that) and got pretty sloshed (imagine that), and he has this brilliant idea to go to the Megaplexxx. If you can't tell by the name of the store, with the three X's on the end, this is a toy store. For adults. Anyhoo, I really wasn't in the mood for all that, what I really wanted to do was go home and go to bed. As in SLEEP. Not the other kind of "going to bed". So whatever, he's been wanting us to go for a while, and he finally convinced me. So we went.

On the way there, I realized how bad I had to pee. (Do you notice how many posts I have about peeing? I'm not a freak or anything, just peeing somehow makes it into my stories. We all pee. Get over it.) So anyway, we get to the store (or more like a freaking MALL), and I head past the rows and rows of plastic penises to the back of the store where the restrooms are. I know what you're thinking, those bathrooms must be disgusting, who knows what goes on in there. I feel the same way, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. When I get to the restrooms, both of them have Out of Order signs on the doors. FABULOUS. I go up to the clerk and ask if there is any employee bathroom or something, because I'm doing the pee pee dance and need one BADLY. He said the water was shut off or something (??) and I wouldn't want to go in there anyway, trust him. Well I trusted him... and asked if there were cameras in the parking lot. He looked at me all weird-like, and said no. (My point was, there could be cameras in the parking lot of a SEX SHOP, people who own those places are probably horn dogs and I'm sure there's some hanky panky that happens in the cars sometimes. Maybe the employees like to watch, I dunno.)

So I find BF in the massive store (after jumping up and down to see over the shelves full of porn, because that place is BIG), and tell him I'm going to pee behind the dumpster. He gives me the "you are so weird, why the hell am I with you" look, but says ok, if you're not back in 3 I'm coming looking for you. I left him to browse and headed outside.

As I'm walking out, I notice a weird older Mexican guy behind me. I had my cell phone in my hand, ready to dial 911 if this weirdo tried to tackle me or something. I go behind the dumpster, which is in the opposite direction of where the cars are parked, and this guy FOLLOWS ME. And then proceeds to say, in broken English, "How much?"

"HOW MUCH?"

You have got to be kidding me. Seriously kidding me. It took me a second to realize that this guy thinks I'm a prostitute!!! I swear, I stood there with my mouth open for a second and then yelled "NO!" and ran back in the store. (I'm sure that "NO" wasn't the best thing I coulda said, but I was pretty much speechless and scared). Let me help you picture what I looked like that evening: I was wearing jeans, black ballet flats, a turtleneck short sleeved tunic, and my hair was in a ponytail. Nothing slutty, no heels, no short skirt, titty shirt, nothing of the sort. I have gone to my daughter's kindergarten class in the same outfit I was wearing. Maybe hookers are dressing more high class nowadays and they're hard to tell apart from regular civilians, I dunno. Regardless, I SO DON'T LOOK LIKE A HOOKER. Tits McGee says so, anyway.

So when I get back in the store and find BF after 5 minutes of searching, he can tell something's wrong. I tell him what happened, and he got understandably angry, so he put his items down and said, come on, I'll go with you. On the way out, the pee pee dance was a long memory away, and I HAD TO GO so I was running ahead of him about 15 feet. I go out the door, make the left on the way back to the parking lot, and there's this guy on a crotch rocket (not a sex toy, a motorcycle) and as I walk (run, whatever) by, HE PROPOSITIONS ME TOO. Ok. This is ridiculous. I had time to digest what the first guy did and actually get angry, so with this second advance, I started just yelling. As I am, BF who, remember, is 15 feet behind me, rounds the corner. As I'm ripping this biker a new one. He starts running over, and I turn around to walk away, hearing him yell at the guy, "What the fuck is going on, dude? You bothering my girlfriend?". I knew he could handle it, I had to PEE. I was outta there. I heard the engine rev immediately, so I guess the guy knew I was off-limits. Or maybe he just thought BF was my pimp and didn't want me doing business on my own. Either way, my scary boyfriend got rid of the would-be John.

So I did my bidness with BF standing there like a bodyguard, told him to wrap up whatever it was he was buying and let's get the hell out of there. I went and locked myself in the car and laid down in the back seat until he got back. Moral of the story: If you want to go to the Megaplexxx, make sure to dress like a schoolteacher. Not a young, hot one, the old music teacher with the crocheted sweaters and long skirts. If I ever go back, and that's a BIG if, it'll be during the day. When all the old Mexicans are at work.