First Posted: 4/30/2013
Being a member of The Weekender writing team doesn’t come without its perks. One such bonus for me is having the opportunity to host my own Girls’ Night Out every Thursday at the Green Frog in Scranton. It’s always a great time, and I get the opportunity to meet new people every week. This past week was one of the more memorable nights and is most definitely girl talk.
I arrived at the bar around 8 p.m. to start the festivities. Shortly thereafter, a portly, shy-looking man came in and seated himself at the end of the bar. He made some small talk but basically kept to himself. Soon enough, the bar was full of the Girls’ Night Out crew. We were all laughing, singing to the music and having a great time.
Out of nowhere, the quiet gentleman in the corner decided to join in on our conversation. He bought a few rounds of drinks for the girls and became so relaxed that he let his inner diva out to play (and she played to the soundtrack of *NSYNC and Madonna). A cocktail or two later, he came up to me and asked if I dance. Me? Of course I dance! He stated that he also had a few moves up his sleeve and dared me to be his rival in a ladies’ night dance-off.
Shocked and pleasantly surprised by the challenge, I gladly accepted. He had no idea what he was in for. The girls all lined up at the bar as the music started to play. Rules had been set and the pressure was on. He made quite an entrance by jumping onto a table and performing a dance that would have been better suited for Cinemax After Dark. There was so much awkward hip gyrating going on you’d have thought you were at a physical therapy session at John Heinz.
I refused to be upstaged; I was pulling out dance moves that my poor body hadn’t done since my days of cheerleading at Lake-Lehman. He was obviously threatened by my tumbles, splits, and general awesomeness and decided to up the ante by rubbing himself in a way that could only be visually described as Jabba the Hutt trying to give himself a sponge bath. It was time to whip out my grand finale, and I needed audience participation.
I grabbed one of the girls who had been watching from the sideline. I slammed her down in a chair and gave her the raunchiest lap dance since Chris Farley dressed as a Chippendale. All of the other girls were cheering on my efforts and really getting into the show. Soon, the dance floor was flooded with Scranton’s most fabulous entourage.
We decided to name him the unofficial winner based solely on the fact that he had the guts to take on the dancing queen. He said he had a great time and would be back for the next night out. He officially earned his tiara and can now be an honorary guest at Girls’ Night Out.
