What happens in Vegas… part 1

30 Sep

We arrive at the Wynn in the early afternoon and quickly decided – it’s time for a drink! The hubby and I made our way down to the casino in search of some swanky cocktails and a snack or two.

You totally forget how the casino’s don’t want you to eat – just gamble baby. But as we meandered to the Encore, we found a place worthy of stopping for. The drink I ordered was called something silly like “Refreshingly Splendid” but it had mint and lime and cucumber and soda water – reminded me of some of my more happy spa days out with the gals.

The drink arrived and I tried to drink it. I swear I did, but I’m not a vacuum – my suction does not rival Dyson (sorry hubby). Each attempt felt like I was about to blow a capillary or two or three. I almost passed out from lack of oxygen. I tried to drink it the old-fashioned way, you know, without a straw, but there were so many small pieces of mint I quickly saw the dangers in doing so. Who wants to walk around in chi-chi ville with green crap in your teeth? Not me. So I gave up.  Ordered a glass of chardonnay. And it was yummy.

Slightly fed and definitely recharged, we started to think about where to go for the first night in Sin City. My new brother-in-law (yeah, I know you’re reading these!) has lotsa friends with connections – so we were put on the VIP list at Haze (a swanky nightclub at the Aria.) Decision made.

I got all dolled up with hot pink tube top, black cropped cargo pants, and 5″ gladiator stilettos. The hubby was looking pretty dang fine as well – and we felt pretty good – I absolutely felt that I was rocking the right look.

We  strutted into the club – and OMG my worst fears were realized – every chick from age 20 to 60 was wearing the slinky mini dress. And huge heels. Heels that I would give up the remaining enamel on my teeth for. Glittery heels, ones with feathers, with zippers, and other bling oh my. In the back of my mind, I could hear my inner Wicked Witch cackle and covet those ruby red slippers of theirs.

I felt self-conscious for all of about 5 minutes until I realized……. my style was all me. It’s who I am – how I feel – and after finishing that journey toward the Emerald City (err escalator toward the VIP line), I  felt renewed confidence in my own skin, and my skin tight cropped cargo pants. And 5″ gladiator heels.

I had asked the question of why it’s so important to dress to impress and I felt I had answered it. Dress to express yourself. Oh crap, did I just quote Madonna? No offense Madge.

Stayed tune for part 2 – wait til you hear what happens at Haze. This stuff can only happen in Vegas.

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