As I stood, chilled, in the parking lot, waiting for a friend to finish a phone call before we entered a fantastic Indian restaurant, the following scene unfolded before me:
A happy couple exits a bar. Dangerously close to one another (I couldn't help steal and change those lines as they were perhaps written for a situation similar to this). They stumble to their car, then abruptly change their course. Run to "Lucy's Love Shop."
The girl yanks on the door to find it locked. The girl tugs on the handle again before her partner's hip juts out to gently shove her out of the way. He gives the door a try.
"Nooo!" they scream in unison as the shop keeper glares as she turns out the lights and points to the closed sign.
"Come on! We'll be quick! We know what we want!"
"It's my biiiirthdaaaay! Coooome ooon!"
After what had to be several minutes of the two of them literally jumping up and down and shaking their fists and yelling, the shop keeper flips on the lights and lets the pair in.
At this point I couldn't help but hear that horrible "birthday sex" song in my head. 'Nuf said!
Welcome to Ghetto-fab G-vegas, baby!
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