I am beat. My husband plays in a pool league and they have a tournament this weekend. They played from 10:00 PM Friday – 1:00 AM on Saturday morning. Then we drove an hour home. I had a meeting this morning at 10:00 AM. Then they played at 1:00 PM. They are playing again tonight starting at 9:00 PM. If they win they play at 9:00 AM tomorrow. The room is full of smoke. My eyes sting from sitting in there. Even the smokers’ eyes hurt. It’s too cold to open the doors for ventilation.
This schedule isn’t nearly as crazy as the one they had in the national tournament in Las Vegas. They finished a match there at 2:00 AM and had to play again at 7:00 AM. None of these guys are morning people. They are especially not morning people of a few hours of sleep. They couldn’t get their best player out of bed that morning. They left me at the room with instructions to “Get him downstairs in 10 minutes!” I don’t remember how I finally got him up. I remember that pouring a glass of water on his head crossed my mind. That was a wild trip. We had just moved into our new house a few days earlier and so were flat broke. The team was given an allowance to travel that covered plane fare and 2 hotel rooms. So I was staying in a room with my husband and three other guys that I had only met once. When we got there one of them walked into the room and stripped down to his underwear. That would be tighty whiteys not boxers. He spent most of his time in the room walking around like that. Didn’t mind at all that a strange woman was in the room with him. I swear I’ve seen more of him than I’ve seen of my own husband. That guy is terribly unattractive to make it all worse.
You know all that “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” crap? I can’t figure out how you can get up to anything bad. We had a rental car. The husband and I volunteered to go get it out of the parking lot and drive it to the front door of the hotel to pick people up. After spending so much quality time with strangers in various stages of undress we wanted a few minutes to ourselves. We get in the car and I lean over to give my lawfully wedded husband a kiss. All of a sudden I’m blinded by a flash of light. There is a cop standing by the car shining a flashlight in my face. Apparently he took me for a “professional” and was breaking it up. This reduced my husband to laughing so hard he was crying and repeating, “He thinks you’re a whore!” over and over. I didn’t know whether to be flattered that he thought I could get men to pay me or insulted.