Remember to feed the dog, we'll be back Sunday

Since it's our money and not theirs until we are dead, the husband and I ran off for the weekend and chipped away at the kids inheritance. I very much miss the days when the boys were young but you can't beat packing one suitcase, carrying it to the door, looking back at whoever might be listening and say, "Remember to feed the dog, we'll be back Sunday." It's a high that you really can't explain unless you've traveled with children. Neither of us threw up and we never had to threaten anyone that we would "pull this car over right now."

Taking these weekend trips are for us and us only, so there are no souvenirs involved either. We don't want to spoil them. They have come to rely on mom's ingenuity, free stuff. On this trip I scored eye makeup remover, a couple tea bags, a hot chocolate pack, hand lotion, a still wrapped in cellophane cup and coffee cup, a coffee package specially made for hotel coffee makers, a pack of creamer and a small pack of salt. These will be dispersed among my children. I brought home some matches but at the ages of 24, 21 and 18, I still don't trust them with a pack of matches and probably never will.

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files, #1675 section B

Friday, November 26, 2010:

"I'm out of shiiiiirrrrts!" the husband exclaimed.

Eff

"There are none in the closet."

"I'll run to the Scary Asian Dry Cleaners and get your shirts."

"Have you seen your hair?"

I was willing to run to the Scary Asian Dry Cleaners after just emerging from the shower, that's how much I love him.

"Okay, don't panic, we still have time. I'll run this shirt through a rinse cycle with fabric softener, throw it in the dryer and iron it. No problem."

I was just that simple and off to work he went.

I dried my hair, slapped some make-up on my face and drove to my constant source of blogging fodder.

The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude reminds me of a Vietnam prison guard in a Chuck Norris movie, that's where he got his nickname. He has a Vietnam prison guard in a Chuck Norris movie grin, it's unsettling. I didn't see him when I walked in, that meant he was lurking in the back of the store with those hot shirt presses. Shivers went up my spine. She was there. Always smiling. Our conversations are kept to a minimum.

"Hello."

"Hi." Sometime I say Hi and sometimes Hello, I try to mix it up a bit, this time I said Hi.

"Four more shirt?"

"Yes."

"Seven ah twenty. Have nice day."

"Thank you."

And that's it, week after week. I'm sure she has a larger English vocabulary, but I haven't delved into it. I don't want to be misunderstood, what with the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude lurking in the back and all.

You can imagine my surprise when she asked if I had a nice Thanksgiving. I was dumb-struck. Holy Crap what do I say?

"It was good, how about yours?" Right then I realized, Asian - Thanksgiving, I don't think so, whoops.

She responded, "We ah went Casino."

See, yet another reason Ohio needs Casino's. We have to keep those senior citizens and their social security checks here. And we have to keep the dry cleaners from crossing state lines with there hard earned American dollah.

Sue and Bill's Wild Weekend Part 1: Gambling Away Our Kids Inheritance

The husband and I packed a suitcase and left for Wheeling, West Virginia Friday afternoon. WooHoo. I bought the kids a gallon of milk and said, "See ya Sunday and keep my dog alive."
We arrived at the casino Friday evening and were welcomed by that wonderful clanging, slot machine noise, I love that sound. Immediately I started to scope out the positioning of the bar to the nickle slots.
"Where are you going?"
"To find the vodka."
"Let's get our cards first dear."
A casino will issue you a Players Club Card that keeps track of your gambling, awards you points and sends you junk mail. We got in line.
"Ma am, would you like a bungee cord to clip to your card?"
"I can not begin to tell you how much I would like a bungee cord clipped to my card. Do I have a choice of colors?"
Now when I place my card in special "slot" in the slot machine, I will remain tethered to it. It will taunt me into sticking another $20 in it instead of leaving. I can also wander around the casino with a white bungee cord clipped to my shirt advertising the fact that I'm too retarded to remember my card in the slot machine.

The International Incident

Sunday dinners have become an afternoon of eating, laughing and reminiscing. Boy #1 and Boy #2 laugh at the torture they've put Boy #3 through. "Remember the time we had to get the neighbor kid to help us hold you down so mom could cut your hair?" I think he's held up pretty well with all the abuse.
"Remember when you broke your arm in Canada?"
"Whooaa, wait a minute. I remember the time YOU broke my arm in Canada. Four whole years ago. I sorta remember being body slammed onto the hotel bed and being pumped full of Canadian aspirin so we could air quote experience air quote The Maid of the Mist. He couldn't air quote back then but he more than makes up for it now.
You see our insurance company wouldn't pay for an international emergency room visit and the husband had already taken the car to the casino. Once he saw that I had everything under control of course. A hotel towel secured with a rubber band was what he considered under control.
Once back in our own country we went to the doctor, who didn't seem overly concerned about the arm until the x-rays got back. "Both bones are broken all the way through, he should be crying."
"He's juiced on Canadian aspirin, good stuff."