Vermont is for lusters (revisited)

(Same story as yesterday except I switched the genders of the protagonists… which makes it totally different. Or maybe it’s just me.)

About halfway through the lap dance the stripper noticed the expression on her face change. As the obnoxiously loud music pumped away in the background, he saw him staring at the wad of dollar bills stuck in a garter belt he was wearing. Try as he might, he could not get his attention back to his perfectly-shaped abs (widely considered the best in the club).

She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

She reached for the cash and he moved her hand away. She then offered her a five dollar bill for the single that sat outside of the bundle. He agreed.

She held it up and looked at it. Then she looked at him. Then she looked back at the bill.

He noticed that there was a name written on it. Melissa P.

“Is that you?” he asked.

She indicated that she couldn’t hear him over the music.

“Is that you?” he yelled.

“Yes. Not only me, but I was the one that wrote it on the dollar” she bellowed back. A faraway look crossed her face.

Intrigued, he invited her back into the Champagne Room to get further information.

Once there she told him that ten years ago she’d written her name on a dozen dollar bills and then spent them while on vacation in Vermont. She was reading something at the time where the main character had done the same in order to find her true love. If one of the dollars made its way back to her, she’d know whomever carried it was the one. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was something of a romantic.

The stripper smiled broadly. There might have even been a slight blush flash across his cheeks.

The woman smiled back.

Not knowing how to proceed, she asked him about the tattoo he had on her back.

“It’s Yogi Bear.”

“I recognized him” she replied. “But why? That’s always the question.”

“Well, he’s my yogi. Yogi the yogi. My spiritual guide.”

“Yogi Bear?” she asked.

“Yes. Jellystone Park is filled with helpful analogies and archetypes. The picnic basket he always pursues, Boo Boo the helpful ally with the paradoxical name, Ranger John Smith, the authority figure, trying to thwart his efforts. Seemingly an adversary, but always believing he has the best intentions. ”

“I guess I never read into that stuff as a kid”

“Well I did. And still do” he said. “I still take advice from Yogi to this day.”

“Such as?” she inquired.

Doing a surprisingly accurate Yogi Bear impression he offered up some of the helpful tips he’d gleaned through years of studying under him, “Boo Boo, you’ve tried to stop my brilliant ideas with common sense a thousand times. Has it ever worked?

I’m so smart and it hurts.

I’m losing control, Boo-Boo. I don’t know who’s steering the ship!

I don’t think we do get smarter as we get older, I just think we run out of stupid things to do.

Just sit back and let Mother Nature carry us toward her own.

And most importantly in my line of work, pic-a-nic baskets may be delicious on the lips, but they’re a lifetime on the hips!”

“Truly impressive” was all she could get out.

She asked for his phone number and he gave it to her.

Of course he knew the dollar bill had been a plant, given to him by one of her friends earlier in the evening, but he admired her moxie and the watch she was wearing.

Some months later they got engaged and moved to Vermont.