It’s Not Like It’s Still a Whorehouse…

Go read the title of this post again.

You are the poster child for all things parent fail when your daughter says those words to you. That right there is enough to be given the mark of the (parenting) beast. But for her to say those words because you took her to dinner in the former-whorehouse-turned-bar-and-grill and then wouldn’t let her buy a t-shirt with the bar’s name on it because…well, it used to be a whorehouse…wait, where was I going with this?

Yes, my oldest tax deduction and I found ourselves out on the town so we popped into the former whorehouse to get a bite to eat. Technically speaking, it probably hasn’t even been a brothel since at least 1987. Possibly 1887. If not earlier. I might have my history facts a little skewed.

The really sad thing is in MY mind the building is a really cool part of our town’s history. If you go upstairs, you can still see all fifteen or so fireplaces where each girl had her own room. Like a big ‘ol college dorm, if that college let you major in fornication. Like most party schools do. Regardless, it’s a really neat historic building (only I guess they don’t let old whorehouses be on the Register, for some reason).

The best part of the evening (besides the resulting blog post where I tried to see how many times I could squeeze the word “whorehouse” into one article) was explaining to my child that whorehouse doesn’t need to be pluralized in order to indicate that the facility offered the services of more than one professional. My child seemed to think whoreshouse would be more accurate, but then we debated the need to have an apostrophe in there to indicate whores’ house. I also had to remind her of where the apostrophe would belong in the adjective describing “house,” at the risk of throwing it back to being whore-singular and hence our original problem.

While this discussion was going on (diagrams were involved…shut up, I said DIAGRAMS), the waitress appeared with our food. Unfortunately, I don’t stop talking just because the help has arrived. The kind woman heard our conversation and said, with no small amount of attitude, “We’re not a whorehouse anymore.”

The subsequent discussion on what she could have meant by “anymore” will be held at a follow up dinner.