One night last week in Tulsa, we decided to go to the Hard Rock Casino for a couple of hours. A friend, Doug, was in town, so we picked him up at his hotel. We all made promises to each other we’d only stay for a couple of hours. I already said that, didn’t I? Yeah. Doug doesn’t even like to gamble, and just went to spend time with us.
We don’t gamble often, nor do we stake big bucks. I don’t play table games. ThatManILove doesn’t play slots. So, we’re often apart once we’re in the casino.
Doug would go hang out with ThatManILove, then he’d come play some quarter slots with me.
I quickly got tired, and so did Doug. We agreed we’d go rescue ThatManILove and go back to our respective hotels, so to the tables we went. We quickly found ThatManILove, so started watching.
The blackjack dealer won’t let a bystander hang around long, and ThatManILove was on a mini-roll. I turned to the quarter machines right behind the table, so that once Doug talked him into leaving, I’d be right there and we could jet.
Doug comes over to my machine, and we play together for a couple of minutes. Then, Doug says, “I’m gonna go get some of his drink.”
Fade back about five years. We’re in Las Vegas, with friends. Serious gambling friends, the kind that know what they’re doing and do it well. We are but mere amateurs. It’s been a long night, I’m major bucks ahead, so I tell ThatManILove I’m going to bed. He’s not been doing well, all night - our friends have been teasing him that he must be confused - the ATM machine is NOT a slot machine.
I go to bed, and several hours later, ThatManILove wakes me up. He’s a little under the weather, and figured out that the waitress kept topping off their bloody marys without permission. At that point, he decides he’s never going to drink and gamble.
Back to Doug. I said, “ThatManILove doesn’t drink when he's gambling!” Doug said, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll be back.” And back he comes, with ThatManILove’s drink. He said, “We’re sharing.” I said, “Ooookkkaaaayyyy.” We laugh. I’m ready to go, but Doug keeps telling me ThatManILove is on a roll, we can't go yet. There’s lots of activity at the table, laughing, whooping, so I acquiesce.
And then Doug says, “I didn’t know ThatManYouLove smokes.” I say, “He doesn’t!” Doug grins, and says, “Really? Look!”
Sure enough, ThatManILove is dangling a lit cigarette from his fingers. Curses. Foiled again.
Finally, we leave. I’m driving, as it’s obvious that once again, that waitress, who must have migrated from Vegas to Oklahoma, has been surreptitiously topping off ThatManILove’s drink.
We get to the Renaissance, which is a square shaped hotel, with one bank of elevators for each floor. We go up to the Club floor, to get water for our room. We get back to the elevator bank, which opens up to a big waiting area. We’re waiting for our elevator, and ThatManILove is talking, talking, talking. I’m trying to keep him quiet for the other sleeping guests, which only leads to a lot of giggling and laughing between us. It's a futile effort, keeping quiet.
We are facing each other, as I listen to him. I take a step back, and he takes a step towards me, still talking. I decide to give it a test. I take another couple of steps back, and he matches me, step for step. It’s like we’re perfectly matched...we could have been on Dancing With The Stars. I back some more, and he follows me all across the waiting room, until we’ve completed a perfect figure eight, around the circular seating bench, finalizing our little impromptu dance in the elevator.
We get to our room before I crack up laughing and explained to him what he’d done.
He loved it, and has laughed about it ever since!
I love this man - this man who doesn’t ever drink when he gambles, and who certainly would never smoke in a casino!
Welcome to yet another chapter of Mi Vida Loca!