Yet Another First

As you get older, there are fewer and fewer things that you can do for the first time. It's just basic math and logic.

First steps, first words, first day of school, first solo bike ride, first lost tooth... They all take place pretty early on. Then you move on to things like first date, first kiss, first time driving a car. Again, for most people, these are pretty early in life.

Eventually, the firsts take more time to come around. There's typically a big gap between the first day of high school and the first day of college.

First day at your first real job comes up at some point. Maybe first passport. First massive hangover. First plane trip.

Yes, you can keep finding firsts if you look hard enough, but some of them may mean you're trying to hard. If you start tagging the "first time at this new Starbucks" or "first time I've commuted home using that road" they just don't seem to mean as much.

Well... I happened to have a first on Friday night which I don't think I'd ever expected I would be having at age 47: My first time at a "male revue."

There's a mid-length backstory which got us to that point - it involves people Christopher works with and a group of au pairs - but that's not the important part. The important part is that at 8 on Friday night we were in the suburbs at a bar where the sign outside said they were hosting a "Male Review" and the crowd was 99.8% women.

(The people working there, however, were incredibly gracious to us - as the random men who showed up for the show. Yes - that's one of those things you hope for in the 21st century, but at a dive-ish bar in the 'burbs, you really never know.)

I'm going to cut to the chase and bullet point this for you:

• It wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. 
• We figured out which dancer was the gay one before the performance even started.
• We think we've probably gotten spoiled by the quality of dancers that typically perform in the places we go - like on Broadway show tours. (And, sadly, this seemed to be pretty much the "third string, playing to the 'burbs" troupe.)
• Yes, we each tipped at least one dancer who came to the table (it was actually less uncomfortable to just tip them so that they'd move on). (Ironically, it was not the gay one.) 
• The fried cheese curds were decent, and the beers were cheap.
• And, okay, it was actually kind of fun - and definitely not a boring Friday night by any means.

Will we ever do it again? I won't say never, because that usually means whatever I say never about ends up happening. But... definitely not any time soon.

For now, we'll just look at it as one more first checked off the list.