ABS, BUTTS, and C(L)OCKS

A dear friend is starting a new adventure with her family far away from the Midwest.  So, a group of us thought a proper send-off was in order.  Since she’s heading to Virginia (for LOVERS), taking in a show featuring The Chippendales seemed an appropriate selection.  

Being in our late 30s to early 40s, we thought there was a slight  good definite chance we may not garner as much attention from these male dancers as, say, a 20something in a much too short skirt.  With that being said, we needed to perhaps enhance our selection of comfortable capris, Origami Owl jewelry, and Thirty-One purses.  Thus, a bridal veil (a comb with a small piece of tulle attached) and Bride-to-Be sash was added to our guest of honor’s ensemble.

Walking into the River City Casino,  we giggled at people yelling “Congratulations!”  to our pretend bride-to-be.  What distracted us all, though, and became much more fascinating was seeing people of all shapes, sizes, and ages carrying clocks with handles (yes, handles) out of the casino, some two-fisting the clocks.  Inside, this chronometer phenomenon continued to the point where we were unable to look away, with some stacked on adjacent slot machine chairs while others were shoved under poker tables as if it were a normal everyday occurrence, before we became obsessed with seeking out their various locales.  

Having taught ethnography writing and a self-described addict of observed human behavior, this scene was too good to be true.  So, we feigned poses near the timepieces in order to capture the moment for eternity (or until I have a mishap with my latest cell phone). 

Finally, our curiosity took over, and our imposter bride-to-be asked a clock handler for the scoop.  Apparently, invites were sent in the mail enticing top spenders to return to the casino with the promise of this wall ornamentation.  Case solved. 

Oh yeah . . . the stage performance was entertaining too, but 10:30 p.m. makes a late night for us “mature beyond our years” gals.

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