All in all, if a person pulled a bandage off their face and revealed such carnage, the normal human reaction would be to gasp, jump back, and hold your hand to your heart.

But the reaction to Kaylee’s titties is:

(In unison): “OOhhh! Those look sooo good!”

“That’s exactly how mine looked at two weeks!’ squeals a girl with nice implants.

Kaylee beams. “I’m so excited for them to heal.”

“Oh, they will! They heal quick. Congratulations!”

“Thank youuuu!”

There are a handful of girls in every club who have had so much plastic surgery, they become strippers both at work and at home. There’s no going back for these women. I imagine their daily lives consist of wearing bikinis to various Hooters restaurant openings or when cut-rate shock jocks make guest appearances at Car Washes in New Jersey.

These girls are treated with enourmous respect by other dancers, me included. The only time we speak to them is to complement something they’re wearing. No one talks shit about them behind their back. It’s part admiration and part pity. By getting three nosejobs, innertube lips, constant fake-baking, and long platinum blonde weaves, these girls have given up the privilege of being anonymous. The club has become their life.