...And Bingo Was Her Name-O

That's right. It was Me vs. the Blue-Hairs tonight baby. Playing a little B-I-N-G-O.

My mom would like me to tell you that neither she nor Della, who I sat with, have blue hair. And Mrs. Rogers' hair is a nice silver, not blue. But, the rest of the church-hall-gamblers were indeed blue-haired, or will be in a few short years.

Okay, back to my story. I was having the WORST day. My mom mentioned that her dr.'s appt. didn't go well. She's referred to a GI and her dumbass dr. used the C word again. Not THAT C word, the C-ancer word. She was upset, then I got upset. Did I mention my dad has GOUT? God, could this day be worse? Yes, indeed it could.

K ended up at the pediatrician for 1. A rash in her diaper area that isn't letting up, and 2. Because wearing her sister's Tutu gave her a rash around her waist, for no apparent reason. The skin issues in this household alone can drive you to drink.

So a yeast infection and excema diagnoses later, I'm a crappy mom and I needed an outlet tonight.

After baseball practice, Hubby dropped me off at the catholic church hall and I ran into all my old cronies. Betty, Dolores, Walter, Sheryl and Karen, Lupe, Custodio, the snack bar family, all of them welcoming me back after a long absence due to my 3rd child being born. I used to spend my Friday nights with my mom at Bingo regularly. There is that little entertainment available in this town, i'm not kidding. This and the movie theater. Oh and Target has a Starbucks now, woo.

So I settle into my cold, metal folding chair and set up my area. I'm not one of those freaky players who has elephants, trolls, and voodoo dolls set about them, that would be the die-hards who believe those little, ugly toys are responsible for their winning a game. They stroke the troll's hair, they wear elephant necklaces, they curse other players as they walk by. It's a bit scary.

I just have my purse, my bingo cards, my cell phone and my mom's dauber to make those fuzzy circles around the numbers.

Two games in, I get "on" for a bingo. This means I'm one number (out of 75) away from winning the game and some cold, hard cash. I get all excited, my heart's racing, my mom gets all voodoo on the caller, she's quietly repeating the number I need over and over in a hushed voice. She mumbles, "come on, Glen, call B15 dangit." (She's borderline gambler's anonymous).

Then he says it, "B 15."

O.M.G. I just won. People at my table cheer for me. Others in the hall shoot daggers at me. I'm handed the cold hard cash. Enough to buy my new camera. I can think of nothing else. I want to go home right then. Forget the rest of the games (14 of them). I'm good with this. Anymore winning tonight would just be bragging. I text Hubby. He texts back, "don't tell the kids, they'll want to go to Build-a-Bear." Nice.

I end up winning 2 more games. I'm thinking i'll need the security guard at the hall entrance to walk me to the car. I've won enough for my Nikon...the SLR version! I could do this for a living. Ha, if only I'd win like this everyday. I'm still on cloud 9. The woes of the day pushed aside if only for a few hours.

Need therapy? Play bingo.