This hole-in-the-wall dive bar might have the worst decor she’d ever seen, but it also had the best DJ she’d ever heard. Every time she thought she’d have time to catch her breath or grab a drink, Lisa was pulling her back out onto the dance floor for another song. And, since this was Lisa’s last night out as a single woman, Celia wasn’t about to be the party pooper who ruined it for her. All of them—Celia, Lisa and four of Lisa’s college friends—in their short summer dresses and fancy shoes stood out from the other women wearing jeans and T-shirts and shit-kicker boots, and wasn’t that the point of a bachelorette party? Men had been buying them drinks and dancing with them all night long, and so what if maybe the men were a little more…hirsute and a little less…fashion-conscious than Celia was used to, it was still a lot of fun. Those shit-kicking farmers really knew how to get down on the dance floor, not like the guys in clubs she was used to, who stood in the dark corners with their drinks in hand, bobbing their heads to the beat while they checked out every girl’s ass.
