There was a farmer, had a dog.....
and B I N G O was his name-o!
This past Friday night, well before any of the vomiting came into play to ruin an otherwise decent weekend, you'll never guess where I was.
Well, aside from the title and the first line of the post, you'd never be able to guess.
Down in Buckhead, tearing up the club scene?
Midtown, partying after work?
At the local Home Depot, picking up some day-laborers?
Bankhead Highway, chillin' with the brothas?
The Cheetah, with a wicked grin and a stack of ones?
No, I was at the neighborhood club house playing bingo.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. But don't worry, I was able to liven it up a bit. All you have to do is bring your own cooler. And that seemed to help. I ended up winning 4 out of 10 games.
But how did this all happen? Why would someone as cool as me be seen playing bingo?
Well, my neighbor, who's in on all the social committee happenings, filled me in with the 411 regarding Friday night. The biggest draw was that there was no cover charge, yet there would be prizes. What kind of prizes would be worth going to the bingo parlor? Well, after you consider that it's either bingo or arts and crafts at the house, it doesn't really matter, now does it?
At the end of the night, I walked out of there with a $5 gift certificate to a pizza joint, a $25 gift certificate to a hair salon (brownie points with the wife), a gift basket with hair care products (more brownie points), and a VIP wing party at Hooter's for me and 10 guests. Nevermind the fact that I don't eat wings. I can find 10 people that do, and have them pay for my beer for the evening.
And to top the night off, came home and had a nice game of topless darts.
And somewhere, off in the distance, an angel got his wings.