Here's why: When we land in the airport in Biloxi, they'll immediately load us on a bus to head to the casino/hotel. In this case, that would be the Beau Rivage. We don't fool with no stinkin' baggage claim. No sirree. They'll take care of our gear for us. They'll shuttle us lickety split to the gambling hall, dump us out, hand us our room keys, and point us in the direction of the slot machines (as if we couldn't use our special radar for that). What we don't want: any encumbrances that would prevent us from diving right into action. And when we get tired (in a day or two) we can stagger to our room and walla! Like magic, our luggage will be there, waiting. What it boils down to is this: No time wasted with the petty details. Let them handle those, while we get down to the business at hand: giving them our money.
Have you noticed the over-abundance of colons in this post? I know you have. Don't lie and look away. I did it on purpose. As I get older, I find that I need to shart, I mean share, my daily ups and downs (so to speak) and I needed a segue to my own personal colon, which has been in hyper-active mode for the past three days: I have had what my mother always referred to as "the backdoor trots." I'm hoping that it's cleared itself up by 8 p.m. tonight, 'cause that's when we're boarding the plane for Biloxi, and I'd like for that to be a non-issue, thank you very much.
And it was not without forethought that I just referenced my mother on this day of days. To honor her memory: a picture of my mother, Susie Johnson Webb, when she was a young hottie.
Happy Mother's Day, Mama!
4 comments:
Reading your tweets alongside your blog, I have to wonder if your dinner at Wasabi had something to do with your colon "situation!"
Could be!
What a strikingly pretty woman.
Thank you kind sir. See where Candy gets her good looks?
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