Strip clubs and pawn shops. You are guaranteed to find them outside the gates of every military installation. Stewart has more than its fair share of both. The road we take between soccer practice and our house has a strip club, and at night, the fluorescent lighting has the club lit up like a Christmas tree. The boys never fail to see it. The sign in the parking lot contains a permanent want ad for "beautiful dancers" and has a logo complete with pole dancers. Bright lights. Metal building. Pole dancers. It's classy. Just like all of the others.
Last night we were on our way home, and Keagan, excited that the 75 minute drive back home from soccer practice was almost over, exclaimed, "We're almost home, Evan. I know because we are at the gymnastics place."
Evan replied in his all-knowing, grown-up voice, "That's not a gymnastics training center, Keagan. That's a dance school."
There was a brief pause and then Evan commented, "I have no idea why you have to be beautiful to learn to dance, though."
I giggled and Keagan wanted to know why I always laugh at his mention of gymnasts. Luckily a high speed cop chase ensued in the opposite lane and the beautiful pole dancers were forgotten.
Unit next time, anyway.
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