Since my husband and I are at this very moment in Las Vegas, I think it is only fitting to share the first trip I ever took to Las Vegas:
When I was nineteen (eeep! Mom! Shield your eyes!) I drove down with my girlfriend to “sin city.” To see what it was all about. Just to browse, you see. Nothing devious. Wouldn’t dream of it. We had very little money. We just sat in the lobby. And okay, we gambled.Cause, um, we did. And we won $40! Woot! Not that I am advocating underage gambling. Wouldn’t dream of it. Just keepin’ the story real here. Don’t be like me, kids.
So, we were sitting in the lobby of a hotel to catch our bearings before making the four hour drive back home. Thanks Mom and Dad for the gas (Sorry!). ; ). We decided the best place to not get caught in our underage deviousness was to stay by the elevator benches. The benches happened to be near three pay phones.
My friend sat on a bench across from me.
I sat all alone on my bench. And okay, maybe, just maybe I was dressed a bit on the risqué side. This was, after all, the nineties. Halter tops were all the rage. Or was that just me? It was also the point in my life where I would work out twice a day, so yeah, I kind of rocked that halter top. I can say that now, because everything that was in the halter top that was good and worth writing about has long since fallen and poofed out. Never to be seen again. Or written about in present tense. Without crying.
As I was sitting on my bench, a middle aged, short stalky bald-headed man walked up to the pay phones. He made a call. After about five minutes of staring at me, he finally approached me.
This is what I remember him saying, “Chocolate donut?”
To which I replied, “What?”
I guess that was not the correct response. He got flustered, began patting his bald head that had begun to bead with sweat with a handkerchief, and walked back to the pay phones. Before he placed another call on the pay phone, the most gorgeous blonde I have ever seen walked past. She paused at the bench I was sitting at. I will never forget her or what she was wearing.
She was wearing a creamy yellow suit that was demure and came down to just past her knees. Her ivory white top was just barely unbuttoned. She wore four inch stilettos and smelled like heaven. She exuded money and class.
I just stared at her.
Then the weird little bald-headed sweaty man approached her, too.
I wanted to warn her that he was obsessed with pastries.
But before I could, he whispered to her, “Chocolate donut.”
Instead of looking at him like he was deranged, like I had…
She calmly replied, “lemon jam.”
They He excitedly and very quickly got into an elevator together and made it up to another floor of the hotel. I’ll never forget how beautiful and poised she looked standing next to him. How very business-like and professional. Completely opposite of what I thought someone who liked lemon jam would ever look like.
Hmmm. Where do you think they were going?* Because as far as I know chocolate donuts and lemon jam do not and never will go together. Maybe they found something else to do.
I just can’t imagine what.
Do you think that little man ever got that chocolate donut he was so craving?
Because now I kinda want one. Not gonna lie. Good thing I don’t have a halter top to fit into or any lemon jam to make.
* Yes. I know. I know what they were doing. Just bein’ funny… I know they were totally making pastries that she was…um…selling.
Isn’t that what the kids are calling it these days?
Or is that just me again?