Whipped on the dancefloor.

Some nights out just stick in my memory and last Saturday night will be no exception. After a great Italian meal with friends we headed to a wine bar in the centre of The Hague. I’m loving the bars in The Hague at the moment. Over the last few years there has been a shift from the traditional Dutch bar (smoky atmosphere and Oom-pah music playing loudly) to the more sophisticated wine bar. A street that once had McDonalds, job agencies and furniture shops now has wine bar after wine bar each with their own style and flair. It’s great!

We ended up in the bar with cosy private seating and a dance floor. The dance floor had the squares that light up just like the one in Saturday Night Fever! I was in my element. I’d already enjoyed some vino with my friends and was raring to have a boogie. I won’t be winning any dance competitions in the near future but I was loving it. The music, though distinctly dodgy, was good enough to dance to. There were some awful tracks from the 90s played but hey, who cares when you feel like shaking it on down with the girls.

It was later in the evening when the dance floor was packed that the ‘entertainment’ arrived (and I use the term loosely). Two girls in their late teens arrived; one was dressed in normal ‘going out gear’, the other had clearly dressed as an exotic dancer. I mean, who wears skin tight white trousers, a tight white crop top and heels that only a drag queen would be proud of? This was topped off with her straight white-blond porn-star hairstyle. I was just minding my own business, drinking my wine and chatting to friends when the new arrival decided it was time to thrash herself around wildly to the music. How we didn’t end up in bruised is anyone’s guess. She clearly thought she could dance. Provocative was an understatement! When she started thrusting around an imaginary pole at I couldn’t keep my laughter contained. She was really going for it. So, there she is….head thrashing, her hair whipping me and my friends in the face. It was all completely unnecessary. I’m sure that by the time she woke this morning she had the need for a neck brace.

If I’d wanted a night watching exotic dancer (which I didn’t) I would have arranged it. We’re just not safe out on the town anymore, not while the crazies are out on the loose.

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3 thoughts on “Whipped on the dancefloor.

  1. Pingback: Fit to fly: The campest flight safety intro EVER. « One Life

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