About halfway through the lap dance, the stripper noticed the expression on his face change. As the obnoxiously loud music pumped away in the background, she saw him staring at the wad of dollar bills stuck in a garter belt she was wearing. Try as she might, she could not get his attention back to her perfectly-shaped breasts (widely considered the best in the club).
He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
He reached for the cash and she slapped his hand away. He then offered her a five dollar bill for the single that sat outside of the bundle. She agreed.
He held it up and looked at it. Then he looked at her. Then he looked back at the bill.
She noticed that there was a name written on it. Roger P.
“Is that you?” she asked.
He indicated that he couldn’t hear her over the music.
“Is that you?” she yelled.
“Yes. Not only me, but I was the one that wrote it on the dollar,” he bellowed back. A faraway look crossed his face.
Intrigued, she invited him back into the Champagne Room to get further details.
Once there, he told her that ten years ago, he’d written his name on a dozen dollar bills and then spent them while on vacation in Vermont. He was reading something at the time where the main character had done the same in order to find her true love. If one of the dollars made its way back to her, she’d know whomever carried it was the one. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was something of a romantic.
The stripper smiled broadly. There might have even been a slight blush flash across her cheeks.
The man smiled back.
Not knowing how to proceed, he asked her about the tattoo she had on her back.
“It’s Yogi Bear.”
“I recognized him,” he replied. “But why? That’s always the question.”
“Well, he’s my yogi. Yogi the yogi. My spiritual guide.”
“Yogi Bear?” he asked.
“Yes. Jellystone Park is filled with helpful analogies and archetypes. The picnic basket he always pursues, Boo Boo the helpful ally with the paradoxical name, Ranger John Smith, the authority figure, trying to thwart his efforts. Seemingly an adversary, but always believing he has the best intentions. ”
“I guess I never read into that stuff as a kid.”
“Well, I did. And still do,” she said. “I still take advice from Yogi to this day.”
“Such as?” he inquired.
Doing her best Yogi Bear impression, she offered up some of the helpful tips she’d gleaned through years of studying under him. “’Boo Boo, you’ve tried to stop my brilliant ideas with common sense a thousand times. Has it ever worked?
I’m so smart and it hurts.
I’m losing control, Boo-Boo. I don’t know who’s steering the ship!
I don’t think we do get smarter as we get older, I just think we run out of stupid things to do.
Just sit back and let Mother Nature carry us toward her own.’
And most importantly in my line of work, ‘pic-a-nic baskets may be delicious on the lips, but they’re a lifetime on the hips!’”
“Truly impressive,” was all he could get out.
He asked for her phone number and she gave it to him.
Of course she knew the dollar bill had been a plant, given to her by one of his friends earlier in the evening, but she admired his ingenuity and the watch he was wearing.
Some months later, they got engaged and moved to Vermont.