After yesterday’s Bingo fiasco I’ve come to an unhappy conclusion: I am no match for the little old blue-haired ladies who’ve made the playing of the game a true art form. Armed to the teeth (or dentures, as the case may be) with daubers in every color of the rainbow, not to mention an arsenal of good luck charms, these ladies are a force to be reckoned with. They don’t come to socialize–in fact, try to engage one in conversation and you’re lucky to get a snarl in return. While I sat hunched in a sweat over my cards, attempting to keep up with the Bingo caller (who surely must have quit a successful career as an auctioneer to take on this job, so quickly did she rattle off the numbers), these senior citizens kept up with the game without batting an eye. And they won. Again and again.
My daughters-inlaw and I kept asking each other things like, “Wait, what was that last number? Is this the blackout game or what?” And all the while over the microphone the numbers kept coming with all the fury and speed of a blizzard, and it felt a lot like someone was cracking a whip over us, admonishing us to hurryhurryhurry.
Well. Now I come to the saddest part of all. I came within 20 seconds of winning $400 on our last game. Yes, after hours of enduring a deluge of numbers and the elderly scowls of our fellow Bingo enthusiasts, I came that close to winning the second largest pot of the day. Now, I realize money isn’t everything . . . but it sure can make life easier. And to have come that close to winning only to leave empty-handed could be interpreted as Someone trying to tell me that I’m not meant to be a gambler. Hmmm, point taken! I can live with that. But I sure could’ve used a haircut!
Because we felt so low about losing, the 3 of us decided to console ourselves by checking out some garage sales on the way home. (Oh yes, I realize there’s no logic in spending more money to console ourselves for the money already lost. But you see, we just had to go home with something more than we came with.) I ended up getting a teeny tiny tea set for my littles, and some cheap sweaters from a woman who could barely speak english. As the blinding sun scorched my scalp and I panted for breath, she kept trying to sell me just one more sweater. As I was about as close to heatstroke as I’d been to winning that last round of Bingo, I declined. I did end up with 4 good sweaters for $2.00, so see: the day was not a total bust.