Aces and Eights
... And she wants to return to the scene of the crime.
Life was been slightly less pathetic since I started hanging out with Rae. I suppose it's a little easier to enjoy somebody's company when you do something other than sit in a dimly lit bar one-upping each other on exactly why you deserve that particular day's installment of booze. So, we've been getting out. And why not? She's easy enough to get along with. Not that women in general aren't, but it helps that this time I'm not doing anything stupid like letting love or sex get in the way. Maybe I really am growing up.
I was just getting to bed last night when she called with her plans to go up north to the casino this weekend. More specifically, she called with her plans to drag me with her. It was then I developed my plan for revenge.
The last time we were there was a couple weeks ago. I spent some time sizing up the blackjack dealers as usual until I hit paydirt. A sweet little blond thing named Tiffany, who couldn't have been a week over 21, fumbled over a shuffle. I sidled up to the table with thoughts of easy winnings on my mind.
She winked as she dealt me a blackjack worth $250 on my first hand. That's when I knew it didn't get any sweeter than that. So I sat. I drank. I counted tens less than half-heartedly. Why bother? I had it made.
Two things would gradually become obvious. The first is that Tiffany was not sweet. Tiffany in fact, was an evil succubus from hell. The second was that I had made the same mistake too many men have made since the dawn of time: I underestimated a girl, at least partially because she was young and pretty.
It was through those admissions of poor foresight that I found myself out $1100 after a few hours. With one hand left to play because we had to start the drive home, I laid a $500 chip on the table.
And drew a 12.
If you know anything about blackjack, you know how much that sucks. I stood, because Tiffany the Satanspawn was likely to bust, but the little demon squeaked a 17 out of it. Bye-bye chip.
And now, we're going back. The mission: Find Tiffany and play smart. I will make her pay, oh yes. Not that she'll care, of course. It's not her money. But in principle, it will be sweet. Sweet, sweet principle.
Life was been slightly less pathetic since I started hanging out with Rae. I suppose it's a little easier to enjoy somebody's company when you do something other than sit in a dimly lit bar one-upping each other on exactly why you deserve that particular day's installment of booze. So, we've been getting out. And why not? She's easy enough to get along with. Not that women in general aren't, but it helps that this time I'm not doing anything stupid like letting love or sex get in the way. Maybe I really am growing up.
I was just getting to bed last night when she called with her plans to go up north to the casino this weekend. More specifically, she called with her plans to drag me with her. It was then I developed my plan for revenge.
The last time we were there was a couple weeks ago. I spent some time sizing up the blackjack dealers as usual until I hit paydirt. A sweet little blond thing named Tiffany, who couldn't have been a week over 21, fumbled over a shuffle. I sidled up to the table with thoughts of easy winnings on my mind.
She winked as she dealt me a blackjack worth $250 on my first hand. That's when I knew it didn't get any sweeter than that. So I sat. I drank. I counted tens less than half-heartedly. Why bother? I had it made.
Two things would gradually become obvious. The first is that Tiffany was not sweet. Tiffany in fact, was an evil succubus from hell. The second was that I had made the same mistake too many men have made since the dawn of time: I underestimated a girl, at least partially because she was young and pretty.
It was through those admissions of poor foresight that I found myself out $1100 after a few hours. With one hand left to play because we had to start the drive home, I laid a $500 chip on the table.
And drew a 12.
If you know anything about blackjack, you know how much that sucks. I stood, because Tiffany the Satanspawn was likely to bust, but the little demon squeaked a 17 out of it. Bye-bye chip.
And now, we're going back. The mission: Find Tiffany and play smart. I will make her pay, oh yes. Not that she'll care, of course. It's not her money. But in principle, it will be sweet. Sweet, sweet principle.