Saturday Night Fever
Somehow, I’ve managed to make friends with a group of ladies whom I affectionately refer to as my MILFs. Yes, you read me right. They are a boisterous group of smoking hot women who own and manage a dance studio in Bensonhurst, and I am always at my wit’s end to try and keep up with them when we go out. Having three kids apiece, putting them through the paces of the competitive NYC high school world, and sending them off to college don’t slow these sexy moms down. Oh, no. There is always time for an impromptu spanking contest at a beefcake bar.
Last night, in celebration of a birthday, we went out to Lai Yuen for dinner, an upscale Chinese restaurant at the foot of the Verrazano Narrows bridge with a breath-taking view. (On a side-note, be sure to check out the HDR photography of gordonf238 by clicking on the bridge photo below — his NYC work is stunning.) The restaurant didn’t disappoint, and neither did the dramz. There were old flames at the bar, beach club cabana queens, and the ubiquitous old Italian couple, sporting a hideous comb-over and draped in gold jewelry.
It’s always a blast to hang out with my lady-friends, and the feeling is mutual. I am the crass Midwestern girl who travels all over the globe and is captivated by their quintessentially Brooklyn stories; they are my sharp-tongued, middle-aged muses in slinky dresses who joke that the most travel they do is driving to Dyker Heights in their boyfriends’ BMWs.
What’s even greater about my MILFs is that their “destination bar” is a hole-in-the-wall literally across the street from my house, the Wicked Monk. Now, four or five days out of the week, I curse my proximity to this bar and its stumbling-drunk, rowdy patrons and bad cover bands. But oh, when the ladies come to party, it’s on.
Last night, about 4AM as I was leaving for my thirty-second walk home, I confirmed with the ladies that we’re going out next month again for another birthday — this time, a 40th birthday party for a 50-year-old woman. If you’d made me guess, she wasn’t a day over 35.
Boy, I cannot wait.
