so tonight, we (me, ellie, my dad, my dad’s friend from the navy, and his wife) were sitting out on the deck, talking, drinking, whatever. none of that is really important, just know that we were outside in full view of the front door around eight tonight.
so the doorbell rings, and my first thought is that it’s my brother coming to say hi or grab a toy he forgot last time he was here or something. my dad gets up from the table and goes to answer the door, and when i hear the voice come from whoever—or whatever—it is that was ringing our doorbell, i realize that i was sadly mistaken.
i turn to ellie, “girl scout?” i say. it sounded like a small child, most likely a girl. we’re all looking at my dad, trying to find any hints in his mannerisms or body language, getting nothing because we weren’t really trying because we only half cared about who was at our house this late at night.
my dad went out of view for a few seconds, and came back laughing with some container in his hand. as he’s walking back up to the table he says to ellie, “remember that stripper that borrowed our phone? she brought us cookies!”
cue the “what the actual fuck?” from the table. well, no one actually said that, but his statement did warrant an explanation. he tossed the cookies onto the table and confirmed that yes, she is a stripper, because her note* smells like cheap vanilla body spray so of course she is.
apparently, a woman in a very revealing outfit with a “rash on her chin from her boobs rubbing up on it all the time” came to our house the other day, claiming that she’s “not crazy” but needed to use the phone because her boyfriend works right down the street at montclair mart and she wanted to visit him but didn’t know if he’d get in trouble if she did so she wanted to call him first to make sure it was okay.
my dad let her use the home phone, a favor she was truly grateful for and still “not crazy,” and she was on her way. ellie, being skeptical of the whole thing, googled the phone number stripper girl had called and found that it was in fact the number of montclair mart.
so now, here we are, six chocolate almond horn cookies richer and still confused as to what the stripper’s real profession is.
*the note says “from the crazy blond chick you let use your phone—thank you!”
