Kitty Litter

Monday, October 04, 2004

Just One Number: 56


Last Sunday I accompanied my dad to this big bingo thingie at the World Trade Center. I had apprehensions about going because I've always feared bingo socials. My friend Kitty Kat (obviously not her name but to avoid getting sued someday, names shall be changed) once told me, seriously, of little old ladies in their province who would stretch their crutches out in the aisle to trip up winners of bingo prizes. Shudder.

But I had fun, and I even came close to winning a Honda City. We were cracking jokes; my boyfriend, Polar Bearball (you just gotta meet him) was making fun of the gigantic keys on the stage while he ran errands for us (taking my sister to her car, buying food and drinks, etc.)

When I was one number away from winning the Honda City, our tablemates got pretty excited, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited too. But G 56 simply wasn't to be. I decided to keep the non-winning card as a souvenir--which I promptly lost the next day. But I knew I would remember the day as being one I had a lot of silly fun in. I like silly days. They make good memories.

When I'd gotten over the disappointment of my loss, I headed off to buy ice cream. Ice cream cures all sorrows, after all, and sugar allotment be damned.

On my way to the ice cream stand, I noticed a guy at the other table, pounding his fists and bellowing and generally drawing attention to himself. Turns out he was also waiting for one more number, just like me; and like me, he'd missed it.

Kat Kit, my sister (not to be confused with Kitty Kat), lightened the mood by joking that we were destined for greater things: the lottery, Laban o Bawi, or Powerball (dollars!). And I had a good laugh as I played the remaining games. My dad had a few moments of excitement as he came four numbers close to a blackout for a million bucks.

Polar Bearball observed that every other table had to have someone with a similar sob story, and I found that thought funny.

I practically dragged Polar Bearball out of the place when the last game played out about two hours later. I wanted to eat, to murder some more student papers, and maybe catch the replay of CSI Miami (I have an unfortunate crush on David Caruso. I have no idea why.).

At the table near us, the same guy I'd noticed earlier was still looking pissed. He was still staring at his game card, and stabbing a finger in the direction of the number that was never called.



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posted by Kitty Litter at 1:41 AM

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