4 marg-a-rootas and I was rooted

This blog is a sequal to ‘5 slippery nipples please’.

It’s Saturday night and I’m on my way to the city for another night out with my girl friends (GFs) to celebrate a birthday. A few of us have booked into the Grace Hotel for the night expecting that none of us would be in a condition to get home.  Although I don’t live far from the city, I thought it was a great bonding opportunity.

Our night started at Cockle Bay for dinner at the Blackbird Cafe, and I must add the beef skewers I ordered would go down in my culinary list of best eats. I’m a very fussy meat eater having spent several years as a vegetarian and 6 months during this time as a vegan,  so I can only eat meat that melts in my mouth. This delicious meal was washed down with my first cocktail of the night. I can’t remember the name of the cocktail but it was red and yummy.

After dinner nine of us walked the 15 minute or so to the Bristol Arms Hotel, commonly known as the Retro. The Retro offers five levels of dancing from the Basement through to the rooftop. We were in the Pure Retro room on the ground level.  Now you can be forgiven if you think I’m the one who chooses to go to the Retro purely for 80s music but I’m not one of those middle aged people stuck in the 70s or 80s for my music enjoyment. On the contrary, I’d much prefer the music of the 90s or 2000s but my 30+ year old friends seem to love 80s music, so who am I to complain.

The Retro also caters for Hen’s nights, so there’s always a group of hens clucking around a bride-to-be all dressed in the theme of the night. This night’s theme was ‘Puss’n Boots’.  I was a bit disappointed with our party, which blew out to around 30 guests, most got the ‘boots’ bit right but clearly missed the ‘puss’ component, including me.

The music got off to a flying start with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama”, which technically isn’t an 80’s song but an old favourite none-the-less, followed by The Bangles “Walk Like and Egyptian” which was well and truly an 80s song and transported me back to “the day” when I was dancing up a storm at the local Workmans Club, commonly known as the Workies. It was the only venue in town for most of the 80s and songs like the ones mentioned were new releases.

Who would have thought many years later I’d still be dancing to the same songs.  I can only hope for future generations the likes of Lady GaGa, or as I like to call her ‘Lady all gimmick no talent’,  will be thrown in the ‘forgotten’ closet with all her freakish muso ancestors of times gone by.

Anyway, I mentioned the Retro caters for Hen’s nights and on this night there were two distinct groups of Hens. One group approximately mid 20s, all skinny and gorgeous. The bride-to-be wearing a slinky black dress barley covering her arse, with hooker heals on a very high boot. Her friends all equally as thin and pretty taking turns doing sexy little dance moves on the podiums that are scattered around the room. If it wasn’t for the short black veil worn by the bride-to-be, I would have thought they were out to impress the blokes with their skimpy attire and sexy moves.  Well I guess maybe there were!

In vast contrast the second group of Hens consisted of all little fatties fussing over an equally fat bride-to-be. Now I’m not being a bitch, this is purely an observation by a middle-age not-so-thin woman. But I must give credit to the little fatties they certainly came dressed in theme, albeit not the theme of the night.  The bride-to-be wore a black corset with a short pink tutu and long black boots. Another hen was dressed in a corset and very tight pants with long lace-up boots. Her boobs poured over her tightly worn corset which reminded me of ice-cream bludging over the sides of a waffle cone which struggled to contain the impending flow.

More to the power of these girls, I say. It certainly shows that they are comfortable in their own skin – all of it.

Speaking of skin, I have never seen so much exposed flesh in one room. The majority of the girls got into the ‘Puss n Boots’ theme – I’ve never seen so many almost exposed pussies in my life. Not that I wanted to mind you, but on this occasion I didn’t get much choice as many of the girls found their way to the nearest podium and danced like they were at a strip club. Some better than others and given the short dresses – well you use your imagination.

My observations didn’t stop at the girlies on the night. The boys gave me something to reflect on as well. Unlike ‘back in the day’ when I was night-clubbing, the boys at the Retro, after a few drinks, were also taking to the podiums, in-between the strippers – I mean girlies. One by one they would take turns showing their skills in hip hop dancing, or whatever they call it. And one several occasions I’d see a group dancing together, clearly letting their mucho act slip for the sake of the music. The blokes in my day stood around the edge perving.

On my last visit to the Retro, I was drinking slippery-nipple shots, this night I was drinking the cocktail of the night aptly named “marg-a-roota”, which by the way is how it was spelt on the waitresses badge worn next to her voluptuous boobs. I’m sure the blokes enjoyed the sight and got mileage out of asking for one. By one I mean a marg-a-roota – just in case you were confused.

Anyway, the night progressed and after four or so marg-a-rootas, I was feeling rather rooted but fought off the feeling of wanting to go home and crawl into bed by accepting the offer from my persuasive GF to get up on the podium and dance. No sooner did I hop up, she was called away. There I was left high-and-dry dancing on a podium. Oh well, I had two choices:  1. start stripping, as that seem to be working for others, or 2. Escape.  Having decided on choice 2, I made an awkward exit from the spotlight and continued dancing at ground level until it was time to go, which for us was around 1am. By this time I was wide awake and looking forward to early morning dessert at the Lindt Cafe at Cockle Bay.

However, my hopes were dashed by the 30+ year olds who clearly had enough and wanted to hit the sack. So here I was, the old broad of the group, walking down Sussex St Sydney aiding the birthday girl who could hardly walk because she had worn new boots for the occasion and they were killing her. Her sister was also struggling to walk in her second pair of boots for the night as the first brand new pair broke and she ended up in her sister’s slightly smaller pair.  To top it off the bloke of the group was also the walking wounded in his new shoes. All complaining about the freezing cold.

Goodness gracious me, times have changed.  I don’t think the youngens of today are as tough as we were ‘in the day’.  When we left the Workies at midnight, because that’s when it closed, it was so cold you could see the steam emanating from our mouths when breathing out. We’d wear skimpy clothes, high heels and barely a jacket between us. We’d head off to the pizza joint which opened until 3am then try and muzzle in on any parties to extent the early morning into mid morning.  Now that was Friday night’s entertainment. We’d back it all up on the Saturday night.

Ahh the kids of today – they just can’t handle it!

Author: Kitty

First and foremost I'm a busy working woman but I'm also a mother, grandmother and mother-in-law. I was brought up in a small country town but I've lived and worked in Sydney for over 20 years. I'm a slack blogger because life and earning a living gets in the way.

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