Head of the Line

My husband was in Vegas last week. He goes there at least a few weeks every year for work, and he always comes home with great stories. Because he likes to play hockey there, rather than gamble, he is always the designated driver for his buddies. This means that I get the sober version of my friends' drunken husbands escapades.

In the past, they've almost gotten arrested for...well...maybe I shouldn't say. If my best friend read this story and figured out what her husband had done, she'd probably chew him a new you-know-what. Let's just say that it involved a halter top and a pissed off woman.

This time they didn't break any laws. But they did something that I thought was cute. After drinking for a few hours, they went to some famous club to go dancing (read that as "ogle women"). The line was already really long. "Not to worry," slurred one of the guys. "I can get us in."

My husband was a little worried about what this friend might do, so he sidled up behind him as he went to talk to the bouncer at the head of the line. The friend spoke into the bouncer's ear, pulled something out of his wallet and then yelled for the rest of the guys to follow him. They were all IDed at the door and let right in.

When they got inside, my husband asked his friend what he had said. "I told him we just got home from the war and we were looking to have a good time. He asked to see my military ID and then said, "Go right in'"

Isn't it nice to know that serving your country (or at least lying about it) can get you into the strip club ahead of everyone else?