YEAH. TUESDAY IT RAINED. Again.
We could make the delightful breakfast with the steaming pot of coffee and the yogurt and the fruit and granola, carried to our room on a tray, last but only so long. We spent some time reading. Watched a little TV. And then the Yard Man offered up a shiny red apple a la Eve in the Garden of Eden.
"Why don't we drive up to Atlantic City," he suggested. "I've only ever been in a casino one time."
I snatched up that apple just like that! (Reminiscent of Adam, I fear).
"Wonderful!" I crowed. "It will be a nice drive through the countryside, and then we can spend some time and quarters playing the slot machines!"
The Yard Man got a worried look on his face. I believe he wished to ask the Serpent a question.
But, nonetheless, we headed north toward the Den of Iniquity. And the rain kept falling.
Now, Reader Dear, if you've never been to Atlantic City, or a giant casino, I wish you'd have been along. Although, not if it thrills you to throw away money. Or if you've got the crazy notion that gambling is a good investment.* We spent some time wandering through the vast complex of shops and betting parlors. Ate a cheap lunch (the parking is free; the food inexpensive; they show up with free drinks while you're gambling. How they polish up that apple!)
I said to the Yard Man, "I'm going to set aside a small amount of money, and see how long it takes to play it. We can just chalk it up to entertainment."
As it turned out, we kept ourselves occupied with the spinning numbers for an hour and a half. Ultimately, the money shelled out would have purchased a paperback book and not much else.
So when we left that garish place in the late afternoon, we didn't carry away any winnings. But we did carry away a pair of salt and pepper shakers that the Yard Man had purchased in a kitchen shop. "Oh, these are great!" he'd exclaimed when he found them. "Those shakers we have at home are disgusting!" (He's been grumbling about them for ever so long, Reader Dear! And before that pair, each replacement set that I'd introduce, he'd find something about them that wasn't up to snuff). Now if I were to bet on this pair--this pair that he discovered-- I'd say these will be just the ticket!
*A tax on stupidity
my dad used to call it.
This time it was fun; but once is enough.
I won't be coming back!
You can bet your bottom dollar on that, Reader Dear!