Anyone who has ever been to Vegas more than once probably has a scandalous story about how Sin City took hold of them or someone they were vacationing with and all hell broke loose. I think maybe your first trip to LV can turn out okay, but there's no way you can walk away from that place clean every time. At least once or twice after a visit you'll be regaling your friends about how your college boyfriend got drunk and yelled across a casino, "I have five words for you: I Will Never Marry You!" or how your childhood bff infiltrated a bachelor party and disappeared for the rest of the night.
No? Okay fine those two are my stories.
But I do know plenty of other people who have gotten into fist fights, had male strippers steal their wallets (no joke— photographic evidence showed the snatching in progress at a bachelorette party) and misplaced friends only to find out they'd passed out in a bathroom stall somewhere.
There is a reason the movie The Hangover was written.
Mr. W and I had no such stories whatsoever after spending 3 days in Vegas this week. The wildest thing he did was wear his flip flops for an entire day (he has short toe cleavage and generally doesn't find sandals to be the most comfortable option) and I got crazy by buying a pair of shorts at the Banana Republic outlet. (I've been wearing long cargo shorts only for the past several years—haven't owned an actual short pair of shorts in who knows how long.) We are wildly out of control like that, and in addition to hitting up the outlets we also drove to Lake Mead and toured around the Hoover Dam.
Off the hook, yo. Well, actually it was a little crazy because this was the temperature while we were taking in the sights:
Despite our tame visit (which included dinner at Cut and Mesa—both of which were delicious) we did end up with a picture we cannot share with anyone ever. No, it's not Mr. W in his leopard skin loincloth again, it's one of me...appearing to be sans panties.
After dinner last night, as we were strolling back through Caesar's Palace, I goofily told Mr. W to take my picture sitting between a horse statue's hooves. Crazy Vegas behavior. When I looked at the camera, I realized you could see right up my dress, and worse yet, the shadow and angle of my thighs came together just so, forming a sort of v-shape and well....it looks like a naked crotch shot. Horrifying, really.
Here's a special version of it just for context:
Of course we laughed hysterically for a good 5 minutes. But I'm starting to rethink the Banana Republic outlet shorts lest they lead to another accidental scary thigh configuration...
