![]() ![]() I’ve already had to fend off three butt-grabs and one blatant boob-cup. ![]() I thought being this covered up in a room full of scantily clad girls would keep the wackos away. But since the club is called Waves, and its main attractions are dozens of swimming pools in the back rooms, anything more than a skimpy swimsuit or cover-up is “overdressed.” We’re also probably the only ones overdressed in dresses that are two sizes too small. ![]() ![]() We’re probably the only ones who didn’t have to sell our future firstborns for an invitation. My bestie Wynn and I push our way to the back rooms, where the pool and wet bar are. Girls have maxed out their credit cards to dress for this event. Guys have driven thousands of miles and flown in from around the world to be here. Artfully presented drinks are passed around on expensive trays.Įveryone is celebrating their host’s twenty-sixth birthday. Hundreds of guests yell and bounce on the dance floor. Everything is a different shade of blue-light blue drinks in crystal flutes, blue flashing lights, blue-hued water fountains. Long, cascading, modern crystal chandeliers hang from a domed, diamond-dusted ceiling. The walls are covered by frosted glass and sleek waterfalls. It’s an upscale place-to the point of being obnoxious. Robin Schulz’s “Prayer in C” reverberates through the club. ![]()
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