Some people go shopping on Boxing Day.
Others, well, they have more 'family' to visit, more turkey to gobble up, and more bevvies to consume.
And if you're Ukrainian, the party's only just beginning.
But me?
I played Kinsman Jackpot Bingo.
Yep. You heard right.
I think it might be the oldest Bingo game in Manitoba. Maybe THE WORLD, because as y'all know, I had a birthday just yesterday and that officially makes me old as dirt so I know these things.
(Unless dirt is new, then that just makes me a liar.)
In any case, I was four numbers away from a full house and a two thousand dollar jackpot. That is, until some jackass called in and claimed the prize.
(Cheater)
But then again, I hear that happens all the time. (Being four numbers away that is, not the cheating part).
That would drive me crazy week after week. I would develop a tick.
And although it was fun watching my Dad find and stamp his numbers like a bingo sharp-shooting champ while yelling "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LAST NUMBER AGAIN"??? every single time, I was worried.
Not for him. He's got life down pat.
But for me.
Yep it was fun.
But it's also Saturday night.
I should be out. But I'm playing bingo.
I am however, still recovering physically from something in my chest that's acting like a recently divorced relative pretending to visit for the weekend while they're dragging 3 suitcases and two trunks through your front door.
It feels like it's never leaving. And it's wiped me out. So Bingo was right up my alley.
Don't get me wrong. Being sick doesn't bother me. Not going out doesn't bother me. Oh no, it's far worse than that when you're a control freak.
It's not having the choice that's irritating me.
I feel the way a shopaholic might feel following a nightmare that all the stores are closed on Boxing day.
I'm not well enough to leave my place for a couple of days. It's in my best interest to stay put. And really, I like staying put... when it's self-imposed and not externally, like from some stupid bronchitis.
pshaw.
But yesteray was grand...
Dinner was fab... French Seafood boullabaise... enough shrimp preceding to satisfy a beluga whale, and Mexican Payaya which is a combination of seafood, meats and saffron rice.
I always want to call it Mexican peyote, but that's a drug and we don't do that in my family.
Although it might spice things up during Kingsman Jackpot Bingo. But I digress.
I confess I have this tendency to call things by wrong names. It's becoming a problem...
Like... I call Bernard Callebaut chocolates Maurice Chevalier chocolates as if the terms are interchangeable, which somehow makes me think I should be reading mentally stimulating material more often as I think my brain is getting lazy.
And I refuse to say the name properly because I like the one I chose better.
Like I said, I'm a control freak.
And for those of you unfamiliar with Bernard's chocolaterie (as I was until about two months ago), here's their website:
http://www.bernardcallebaut.com/
Worth trying to be sure, but frankly, if I had to pick, I'd rather buy shoes at Winner's for fifty bucks than spend it on something that's going to make me gain the weight I'm constantly trying to lose.
That's just cruel.
The truth of the matter is, when I get a box of them they don't last the day.
On top of being a control freak, I have no self-control...
And I'm whiny.
And i'm down on myself today.
But it's all good because tomorrow is a new day and I'm going to talk about the importance of ritual. I always do something on my birthday and again on New Year's. Similar stuff... most people don't understand the significance of ritual.
It's the mark of a civilized society... and I'm going to explain why...
A demain...
for now, I'm going to dream about Maurice Chevalier and the wonderful chocolates he makes.
xox
