Tat tas: More than just a funny word

This is my two part whore-er story...

 

Yesterday the Three Stooges and I were trying to get ready to leave Mumbai. We had decided that we should have cocktail before the train ride and during a bit of shopping. There is almost no bars in Mumbai, or rather no traditional bars that we could find. We did see one on a busy street, it was called Lucky One. During the chaos on the street rather than really looking at the store front I pushed my friends into the bar. We walk in and notice immediately a sign that states, patrons are not allowed to dance. We are escorted to a table and I notice immediately that there are only men sitting and a few girls standing around. The girls are young and dressed up quite elaborately. I start thinking maybe this is a strip club, but no one is dancing. after a few minutes and a misplaced shot of vodka and a beer in the way, I finllay figure out I have pushed the three of us into what I can conclude is a whore house. The three of us are laughing under our breath and laughing  our asses off. Meanwhile there is a man standing over our table pushing us to order more drinks and a handful of girls not staring but glaring at the three of us. Lisa, or Larry from here on out and my self start prodding Mat or Curly, as I will refer to him in the future, to talk to the girls. He in the process is blushing and laughing. We decide to finish our beer and get out as soon as possible. In the interim the man next to Larry has asked her to dance for him. She reminds him that the sign on the wall said that the patrons are not allowed to dance, I reminder her if she does she would no longer be a patron. The entire incredibly uncomfortable ten minutes ended with us leaving money and splitting, meanwhile the man in the tuxedo is chasing Curly out wanting to know where his tip is. We stumbled off down the street to get fitted for out Suris laughing and calling Curly a john.

 

Part II

 

For those who know me well know that I was, we'll say "endowed" with certain physical traits. While in the us this is, I don't think any way, entirely out of the normal. However, in India this gift of DNA is not so common. This is something I had not really noticed until to day. Larry and I were ordering Suris, the traditional Indian outfits. This is basically a tight fitting top and a large piece of cloth that wraps your body. The tops have to be tailored to you exactly. Larry and I enter the shop and talk to the owners whom, are five men. We pick a cloth and they send for the female seamstress. About fifteen minutes later she shows up and starts to measure me for the fitting. the top doesn't cover much more than you breasts so as she is measuring me she actually stops to make a few cracks to the men about the amount of material this is going to take. They all laugh, she measures another angle on my breasts stops makes another crack they all laugh and then continues again. I was slightly embarrassed, but this barley scratches the surface. A bit latter I go to purchase a few shirts (I packed surprisingly light and needed some cloths that were OK for the mosque). I go to India's version of a Target, grab two shirts hold them up to me and decide they fit. I buy them, take them back to my hotel throw one on and it does not fit.I try the other and again the same. The shirts fit everywhere but the breast area. So as we are headed to the train station I go in to return them, I have to explain why they don't fit, again the woman at the counter starts to make jokes to the guy standing next to her. I ignore them and go to find different shirts. Larry is with me in the interest of time, we start digging and the only size shirts they have that fit me up top is XL with does not fit any where else, I am now digging through piles of shirts holding them up to myself to see if they fit in the process a group of six people are watching what is going on and are laughing hysterically. I move to the men's shirts hoping that I should have luck with men's broader shoulders. No luck and the group is now laughing harder and longer. At this point I am so frustrated and embarrassed I grab the first two ugly things I can find and we leave. As we are trying to check out, the manager is hitting on Larry, while asking me if I am sure if this new selection will fit, by the end of the day I was almost ready to go back to Lucky Bar where I might be less the joke and we could go back to laughing at Curly and his lady friends.