I've always been a daddy's girl. My dad and I are really close and we always will be. I tell him everything, we have the deepest conversations. But there are times when our closeness is borderline creepy. An example of that is the time that my dad took me to a strip club.

Here's a little bit of a backstory: I am a lesbian. When I turned 18 all of my guy friends wanted to take me to watch a bunch of half naked women. They figured that since I like girls it would be fun to see my reaction to half naked women dancing around on stage. They thought that I would enjoy the experience. Fun fact: I would not. I had no inclination to go to a strip club, I didn't want to sit in a dark room surrounded by dudes watching women dance on poles. That just isn't for me. All of my dude friends, including my father, either failed to realize that or ignored my obvious discomfort.

I love my dad, what I don't love is when he forgets that I'm his daughter and not his best friend. That's not necessarily his fault, he worked a lot when I was growing up. He tried his best to make sure that we had the money to do the things we needed to do. He wasn't super present during my childhood. Now that I'm older he sometimes fails to remember that I'm his daughter, not just a friend. I usually don't mind. I love having my dad as my best friend. But that can lead to some unfortunate situations.

Like this one: one night I was working on articles for another news source that I write for. My dad approached me and told me he wanted to go to the strip club. My dad had recently gone through a divorce, so this was a kind of regular occurrence. He was a lonely guy. I told him no, he then proceeded to tell me that he was drunk and he needed someone to drive him.

That was where the fun began. As I was driving, he explained to me that he would be giving me 100 dollars to spend on the strippers. And as soon as he gave me the cash I decided that I was definitely not spending it on strippers.

We arrived at Springfield's favorite, and only, strip club, "Deja Vu." To this day I still have no idea why the hell they named a club "Deja Vu." We walk in and my level of discomfort shoots up to the ceiling. I walked into a strip club, with my dad, that had a mini sex shop in the front. That's right, dildos fucking everywhere. While dad just walked right past them, I tried to figure out if he could get home without me driving him back.

I was quickly pulled out of my thoughts when the man at the front desk asked me how old I was. After the initial confusion as to how I made my way across the room without realizing, I quietly squeaked out a sad "eighteen." He asked me if it was my first time at a strip club, I said yes, and he let me in for free.

That was the only truly good thing that happened to me that night.

Sitting in a room full of sweaty men watching half-naked ladies dance around on stage makes a person extremely uncomfortable. Trying to hold a conversation with your slightly intoxicated father makes it just a little bit worse.

And then a very naked lady appeared on stage. Then, since that wasn't bad enough, I recognized her from middle school. The last time I saw this girl she was just figuring out how to put makeup on and suddenly I'm watching her dance on a pole COMPLETELY NAKED. She wasn't even good at it.

After that wonderful performance, I looked to my left to see a friend of mine sitting in the front of the room. I then prayed to every deity in existence that he would not fucking see me. He didn't.

By that point, I was wondering why the hell so many people I knew were at this strip club. Then, to make matters worse, my dad said that we were moving closer so we could give the strippers money. I reluctantly followed him and sat down as far away from the stage as I possibly could. I was sitting for maybe five minutes while my dad went to get a drink when a very good looking lady approached me. The interaction went kind of like this:

"Why don't you follow me into the back."

"Wait, what?"

"That nice man over there paid for your lapdance."

She then proceeded to point at, you guessed it, my fucking father.

I won't go into detail about what happened with the stripper. Let's just say that my small gay heart almost escaped my damn chest.

And that, my friends, is why you should always say no when your dad asks you to drive him to the strip club.