Bingo (while depressed 2006)

   written in 2006

I was having a terrible day, when my friend called and said I HAD to go to the secret sisters’ luncheon today I said, “No” she said “yes,” we argued, she won.

    I pulled myself up by my bra straps, and plastered a layer or two of makeup on my face. I  got out of my sweat pants, bypassed the overalls and went for the gold, put on my too tight Rockies’ Jeans.

   I went into the kitchen rooted around in the fridge found a couple of packages of cream cheese

 that wasn’t  moldy and whipped up my famous cheese ball, wrapped it in saran wrap plopped it on a plate and preceded to go out into the cold cruel world.

  The wind was galeing.  Hmm is that a word? It wasn’t going in circles, so couldn’t be termed a tornado.  I got the storm door open when the wind tried to slam it shut, with me in it. Banged my head on the steel door.  I peeled the cheese ball off my chest, wiped the loose parsley flakes and nuts off my shirt, the saran wrap failed. I  clutched it to me and ran to the car. Okay I  basically ran in place with my head stuck out like a snail as I fought the wind to get to my car.

  I opened the door and jumped in before the wind could body slam me. I reshaped my little cheese oval. It was no longer a ball. 

  I got to the church kitchen, opened the door, the wind was so strong I couldn’t close the door.  I set my little cheese oval down, and wrestled that dad-gummed door with both hands until I got it shut. I looked around and couldn’t find my cheese oval.  Through the window . . .   I saw  my poor little cheese oval where I left it out in the cold on the step. 

  Another church lady came and I bolted out, rescued my cheese oval and got back  into the kitchen. I let her deal with the door.

 My friend, Dana came over, looked at my food offering and said “Hmm drop it in the car and let it roll around a bit?” 

  I glared at her and picked off a bit of the grit  where the wind storm that had assaulted it. I told her “it was most likely the Italian dressing makes it look like that.” And set it on the table with all the other much lovelier dishes.

   Much later, we played bingo. I sat in my depressed state of mind, putting beans on the little squares.  Dana,  leaned over (I think she thought it was a test and was trying to cheat) and she yelled out “Geannii  has a BINGO!”  That isn’t what upset me. It was the words she just had to add. I know she didn’t mean to, perhaps they were just too good to grab and drag back in   “ARE YOU SLOW OR WHAT?” 

  Well the way she said or what . . . I chose to be slow and just glared at her some more before I informed  her, “You don’t  have to tell everyone in the room that I am slow.  There are some things I like to keep secret you know.”

  She giggled in what I hoped was an embarrassed way and said, “Well I’ll take your prize if you don’t want it.” .

  I may be “slow” but I’m not stupid! I got up and retrieved my own prize.

  I left right away, as I was close to ruining my good deep depression with all that fun and gaiety.