The hubby and I celebrated our anniversary this week.  We aren’t new to this yearly tradition.  We have gotten past the giddiness and settled into a comfortableness that comes from being old hands at marriage.  We semi sort of dressed up and went out to a eat at a nice restaurant.  After our lovely meal the hubby asked if I would like to drive to one of the nearby casinos, and I gave him a big “hell yes!”  We love gambling and always have.  He prefers to pairs gamble, and I would really love just to do it all by myself but we compromise and do it his way.

We play slots.  We don’t play the tables.  There is a reason we don’t…the people.  I have been accused of being a snob.  My niece’s husband called my daughter and I snobs when he first met us, because we didn’t want his friend who had just gotten out of jail to come over for Thanksgiving.  One of my best friends (well, I thought she was a ”best” friend…turns out she wasn’t a friend at all) accused me of snobbery for a comment I made that was given in humor and twisted into something ugly.  Even my husband has called me a snob.  That, however, was because I was a cheerleader in high school and had more than one date with more than one guy.  He was (according to my daughter and myself) somewhat geeky.  He commented that I was a social elitist who probably wouldn’t have given him the time of day if we had been in the same high school at the same point in our lives.  He was probably right.  But back to my story… we don’t go to the tables because the people who hang around there are creepy.  Now to be fair, it’s not just the people who hang out at the table who are creepy.  The people who play the slots are creepy too.  We however, are mobile and we can leave if the creep factor gets too high.  It seems the only people who go to casinos in the middle of the week (it’s slightly better on the weekends) are people who can’t afford shampoo and smoke incessantly. 

On this particular night there was one gambler who had gotten incredibly drunk.  I saw him stumbling around aimlessly with glazed eyes and unwashed hair plus a lovely cigarette hanging from his thin lips.  He was a small man who was living large.  He had enough beer in him that he had become hard of hearing.  He shouted all over the place.  Every comment was uttered loudly enough for everyone in the casino to hear.  He commented on the band.  He commented on the slot machines.  He commented on the women walking by…I commented on a few of them too (not in a good way).  He commented on the fact that his wife wasn’t liking his comments.  At one point we heard his shouting from across the casino, “I did it!  I won that m’er f’er!”  We weren’t hearing any whistles or bells so I don’t know exactly what he won, but I am assuming it was either small or at the tables.  All night long, well as long as we were there, he shouted and he got louder, and louder, and louder.  Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. the hubby and I were playing video poker…which is to say the hubby was playing and allowing me to watch…the buddy system really sucks!…and I saw the drunk little man walking toward the bar once again.  He was intercepted by a woman who I am assuming was his wife.  She was a little taller than him.  She was a lot heavier.  She had on work boots and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt that looked like it had come directly from the construction site.  Her jeans (Wranglers) were covered in what I  believe was concrete, but could have been paint.  I’m saying she was a working woman, and she looked like she would have been good at her job.  The following conversation took place.  “Where do you think you’re going?”  “I’m headed to the bar.”  “No.  You are not.  You are coming over here with me.”  “I’m headed to the bar.”  “Get your sorry ass behind me and you keep walking as long as I do.”  This was muttered in a menacing voice that had been lowered to a threatening whisper, but the eyes (under the brim of her trucker hat) were pure evil.  The poor little dude fell into step.

I was intrigued.  If I had dropped my head and lowered my voice and said those words to my hubby…well, first he would have wondered why I wanted him to look at the top of my head, but secondly he would have laughed his ass off.  When you are 14 inches shorter than your husband it is hard to be a threat.  He also outweighs me a bit so I cannot be effective as a “can of whup ass”.  If I could have become the aggressor, like this charming lass, I wouldn’t have been looking around the casino while “we” were gambling.  I would have said “give me some cash so I can play poker too or I’m gonna whup your ass!”  Boppy doesn’t realize how lucky he is.  I can’t whup his ass.  I can barely reach it to bite it!  Luckily, I rarely feel the need to unleash on him. 

We left the casino after about four hours.  We hadn’t come out ahead, but we weren’t too far behind.  Neither of us had to worry about being stopped for DUI or waking up with a hangover.  We were definitely faring better than the couple I described.  We will still be married next year…them, I don’t know.  I do know this,  the next time we go I’m taking my purse, or at least my debit card.  I should have been looking down at a nice slot machine, not noticing the sad people trying to survive a Wednesday night at a casino.  I did have a thought while I was there.  I wondered what people thought of us….not drinking, well dressed, not fighting or smoking.  Then I knew the answer…they wondered why we would ever come to a casino after church.

 

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