Showing posts with label strippers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strippers. Show all posts

Thursday, June 4, 2009

In The Cut


What's with men and their love of ladies with long locks? I get the boob thing, and the butt thing, but what's the hair thing? Maybe the attraction to yards of scalp-yarn is actually embedded in their cavemen genes as a safety factor during the "me drag you back to my cave, ug-ug" ritual... the longer the hair, the farther the distance between her angry, swinging limbs and his balls. That's one theory anywho.

In most men's eyes, as long as you're sporting Godiva-length tresses, you're automatically kept out of the woofer pile. I've seen many ugly exotic dancers (well, OK, I don't go to the clubs enough to say 'many', but I've been there and have seen some real howlers) who must be using their hair to cover their dog-chow faces because, drum roll please... the guys don't seem to care what's between said strippers' forehead and chin as long as their voluminous curls cascade down past their tramp-stamp. It's the boob-butt-hair tri-fecta that earns the big tips. Doesn't matter if their face looks like a Denver omelet.

It's a darn shame, too, because a crop-top can be hot hot hot. In case you've forgotten, Pink has a total dyke-do, and she's straight-up smokin'. Rhianna, punky half-shave, sexy business. Even Jamie Lee Curtis, butchy butchy hair, rockin' the silvers, still workin' it.

I'll never understand this long-hair man-rule, although I do choose to abide by its code. You see, Husband is one of those cavemen. Yes, I wear it long. I do it for him. That's the way I roll. For now.