My other half's story
When she first moved to London, and before I'd met her, my other half lived in Stepney with her alcoholic (now ex-) husband. Every Friday she'd have to trawl round the local pubs trying to find which one he'd settled into for the weekend. Not being an East End fishwife, she didn't have the nous to stride into a pub and shriek "Is that drunken bum Jeff in here?" so instead she would just guiltily creep in, have a quick recce round the darkest corners and then leave. Eventually she discovered that bar staff could be quite helpful if she actually approached the bar, ordered a drink and asked after his whereabouts. Finally she realised that there wasn't much point searching him out and would end up having a few drinks in one particular pub and chatting with the locals.
One such Friday night, just before last orders, an old lady came round with a bucket. Seeing that the locals were enthusiastically digging deep into their own pockets she chucked a few quid in, not quite sure what charity she'd just donated to but not much bothered either. Then a lock-in ensued. The front door was locked, the blinds and lights were lowered. The old lady from before went up to the bar, plonked down a battered old tape player and hit 'Play'. The tape was so stretched and worn with age that the music playing was almost unrecognisable. People started clapping and cheering.
The old lady then climbed up onto a table and, shuffling to the warped sounds of David Rose and his Orchestra, started removing her clothes, revealing herself to be even more stretched and worn than the tape. And because she'd given the single largest donation of the night, the stripper most generously threw her support panties to my other half.
TL;DR My future wife inadvertently scored a pair of stripper's knickers.
( wakeupandsmellthebacon, Fri 7 Feb 2014, 15:27, Reply)