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On Saturday I went out for happy hour with my friend and four, happy, major conversation, and whiskey-filled hours later we ended up at a dive-ish bar. On the wall of the Ladies(?) room above a black vinyl chair I saw this sign:

I frequent some classy spots, no?

My first thought was:   Is The Shagging Chair like the Sorting Hat? (Harry Potter nerd alert)

My second thought was (and here comes the blog query):    If you are shagging in the restroom of a dive-ish bar, DO YOU AMATEURS REALLY NEED A CHAIR? REALLY?

This is the deep and meaningful query I am putting out there today, because it’s all I’ve got right now.*

Cheers,

Miss MoL

*For my own reputation I will declare that although this post is down and dirty and shallow as a puddle of spit on hot Alabama asphalt, the other writing I did tonight was as deep as, well, something to do with your Mom and I can’t post that here. And now I will stop typing… with apologies to my daughter for having to read this. Sigh.

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