Two old women get on an elevator. I call them old...because if you're over 60, you're old. And anybody who tells you different is a big fat fucking liar! Why the big deal about being old anyway? It's not like you're dead. You can still have fun...it's just that what you think is fun and what someone, say 20-30'ish, thinks is fun are probably way, way different.
The old gals checked into the hotel earlier in the day. Not a cheap pay-by-the-hour kind of place, mind you, it was a pretty upscale hotel. And, just to be clear, they've probably never stayed in the pay-by-the-hour kind of hotel in their life.
After dinner, they went back to their room on the third floor. Being old means you're almost always in for the night by 8 o'clock. There are exceptions, but they're few and far between. They finished dinner around 7'ish and decided to call it a night.
Not long after the gals left the hotel restaurant, an old guy walked in. He looked a little scruffy. White hair poked out from underneath a well-worn baseball cap, and a long sleeved denim shirt covered the belly hanging over his Levis. He was alone and even though he looked like a hobo, he wasn't...he'd just finished work for the day. After a quick dinner all he wanted to do was get up to his room on the third floor and go to bed.
Once they got back to their room, the old gals flopped down on their respective beds. Bedspreads down, of course, because since they don't get washed after every guest you know they're filled with other people's cooties. Just for the record, I spent decades laying on bedspreads in hotels until someone pointed out to me the fact that they weren't changed and cleaned like sheets after each guest. It kinda grossed me to think about all the other people's bodily secretions that I've probably laid on throughout the years. But then I decided to look on the bright side and reason that it's helped build my immunity system and is probably one of the reasons that I don't get sick a lot. Though, even after using this Pollyanna outlook, I now turn down the bedspread, because it's just too creepy to think about laying on some stranger's dried bodily secretions. It's one of those "ewwwww" things.
So anyway, the old gals futzed around for a while and decided they should live a little and go down to the hotel bar and have a drink...or two. I mean how often did they get away like this? So back on went the shoes and out the door they went.
In the elevator on the way up to his room, the old guy stood there with a toothpick in his mouth. He felt a rumbling in his belly, a little pressure building...
When the elevator door opened on the third floor and he started to walk out, he looked up and saw the two old gals waiting to get on.
"You should probably wait for the next elevator" said the old guy to the two old gals.
They smiled at him and walked into the elevator...
"Oh my God!" said one of the old gals, and as the doors started to close, trapping them in an elevator of fart stink all the way down to the lobby they heard the old guy laughing.
Yes, this is the man of my dreams in action. I am sooooo thankful that I wasn't with The Husband when he did this...it's the stoopidist thing.