Feeling Old In Las Vegas

You would think that as a recent college graduate I would fit right in with the new Las Vegas, an endless spring break party with pounding music and overwhelming shows of cleavage.

Sadly, this is not the case.

I am definitely not fitting in — perhaps because I was a couple of decades late earning my college degree.  My priorities, among other things, have shifted. Also, I have no tattoos, I’m cleavage-challenged and my tolerance for cheap booze has declined to the point where drinking from one of those plastic margarita bongs might make me vomit.

So it would seem that I must end this trip without partaking in the new Vegas trend, described in USA Today, of paying to get into an adult pool party with possible toplessness. The fee may be waived, apparently, for hot chicks who are willing to wear high heels with their bikinis — a test I  fail on every possible grounds.

I did read some helpful advice on Yelp about what to do if one’s feminine wiles fail to win entrance:  “Don’t forget your cash folks. If you’re ugly, a man, or desperate, it helps out. No offense!!!”

She forgot “old.”

But then with age comes wisdom, and I’ll settle for that. At least I know enough not to spend $20 to get into a pool right next to the free one so that a hotel can charge men  $40 to look at my cleavage — if I had any.

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