I don’t remember where I heard it but I liked the sound, “I’m a Gaslight Girl!” I yelled to anybody in earshot. The Gaslight Girls were big in the day in Chicago in the Palmer House Hilton, meaning a day in the 1930’s. We were extinguished shortly after I joined similar to the Honey Bears. The befriended Gaslight Girls were singing waitresses and one member prostituted on the side. Our costume was a fringed, low cut flapper dress. Gaslight Boys didn’t exist. Lunchtime consisted of one table of business suited men with fat cigars. Excitedly I changed into my flapper dress and it dropped to my waist because of my little boobies. I inserted a padded bra and bingo! “Welcome gentlemen, I’m your Gaslight Girl hostess,” I said and escorted that one table inside. Using my new puffy breasts as a pillow, I returned to the hostess desk and dozed off. Our three hour shift over, we Gassy Girls hit Rush Street in an appointed limo.
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