Our Lady of Atlantic City
I'm not sure when or exactly how it happened, but Monday has become our Date Day. Sometimes we jump in the car and play the Left/Right game. We'll hit an intersection or a fork in the road and Roy will say to me, "Left or right?" and head in whichever direction I choose. It's led to some interesting adventures in the past, many of which have ended up in books. (We ended up in Stockton on the Delaware River about ten years ago and that found its way into Once Around.)
Today, however, we had a plan. We were heading down to Cape May, one of our favorite places on the planet and a frequent destination. Okay, so it was just a plan. We meant well but somehow we ended up in Atlantic City (I love A.C.; don't tell anybody but I do) and stumbled into a free buffet at Harrah's.
This, my friends, is people-watching paradise. Our booth looked out on the pool area and I got to watch many fascinating comings and goings. Let's just say the human body comes in some amazing shapes and sizes. Victoria's Secret is missing out on an untapped demographic: I saw enough man-boobs to justify a whole new line of lingerie. (Kramer had the right idea.) I not only saw visible panty lines, I saw what the panties were trying to hide. I saw a man in pale peach shorts and an open lacy shirt which didn't look all that strange in a seaside resort town until you noted the floral totebag slung over his shoulders and the fact that he had French manicured his toenails! He was around forty or so, drop dead gorgeous: tall, tanned, incredibly fit. His hair was thick, shimmering shades of grey and white, impeccably barbered and styled. The other team is lucky to have him . . .
Now I'm a lapsed Catholic (very lapsed) with 12 years of parochial school under my slightly neurotic belt, so you know I say this with love and bemusement: I saw the Infant of Prague propped up on a Wheel of Fortune progressive. I tried to get a photo but I guess I wasn't quite as unobtrusive as I'd hoped because the Infant of Prague's gambling pal shot me a look that left me quaking in my sandals. I turned to leave and I swear to you I hadn't walked more than twenty feet away when I spied the Archangel Gabriel hanging out at a Slingo machine. Take a close look at the photo I snapped with my phone. See the woman on the left? Look at the top of her head, slightly left and just below the Slingo screen. Yep. That's Gabriel.
Hey, whatever works! I'm the woman who thinks there are stories hidden in her new laptop and she needs to dangle blue topazes and chocolate chip cookies over it to lure them out.