One more off the bucket list...

I've always been a big fan of Las Vegas. I've loved it ever since my Dad took me there for a high school graduation gift so that he could show me the ins and outs of Vegas and gambling.

He wanted to show me that you never win in Vegas. Gambling is fine, but you're gonna lose. He tried to teach that to me several times. We started at the Tropicana, Caesars Palace, and also back at our hotel, The Flamingo Inn.

He failed.

He couldn't sit down at a blackjack table without winning $50, $100, $200 in a matter of 20-30 minutes. It was uncanny! Within a couple of hours, he told me that our trip had already been completely paid for.

So, I knew that Vegas would be a popular destination for me. And it was. I went up many, many times after college and before I moved out East. I'd seen just about everything. I'd seen friends (of each other) get into drunken fights at a craps table. I'd seen cheaters or other undesireables forcefully ejected from casinos. I'd managed to play enough during my trips to get minor comps.

But, one thing had always eluded me. One experience to complete my Vegas totality.

Then, after 28 years of off-and-on Vegas trips, it happened.

I was solicited.

One late night, after having some drinks with a coworker, we left the casino floor, split to go to different elevators, and as I passed a dimly lit, rarely used slot alcove, there she was. Beautiful, too. It was very late, and I was exhausted from the day, and the memory is already fading. She looked Asian, possibly Eurasian, and wore a pure white dress. Really beautiful and sexy.

She was smiling at me and waving me over like we were old friends or something. I was pretty sure I didn't know her, but... might she be a customer from the trade show that stopped by our booth? Sure, that must be it. Some beautiful young woman I met at the show, whom I didn't remember, and was inviting me into some empty alcove. Yeah. Sure.

So, as I decided I wasn't going to get rolled right there in plain view of the heavily trafficked hall, I went on over there.

Understand, I have nothing against her or her profession. Not at all. I don't believe it ruins the fabric of our society, breaks up marriages, or any of that. I can only hope that those women who practice it aren't forced into it out of desperation. I'd like to think that they enjoy it. Probably not, but, in any event, good luck to them.

Anyhow, she softly takes my arm, sits me down in a swivel slot-machine chair and sits so that she's slightly behind me. She softly places her chin on my shoulder and asks, "Where ya going?" Beautiful, sexy voice. No accent.

"I'm going to bed."

"How would you like me to tuck you in?" Breathy. Sultry. I suspect she was pretty good at her job.

At this point, I would have loved to have found out the price, maybe gotten her into a bar to just talk with her. I mean, how often does this sort of opportunity come up? I'd love to know more about her life and lifestyle. She probably would have lied about everything, but still, unless she's really good, a lot of truth can be garnered from lies.

But, no. I was tired, not thinking too clearly, and, frankly, off-balance.

So, I said, "I'd love that, but no thanks. Good luck." I got up and walked away without looking back.

Needless to say, as tired as I was, I still couldn't sleep for an hour or so.

The next day, as I related the story, like a badge of honor, to my coworker from the night before (who was also young and good looking), she mentioned that she had been 'solicited' too! I was a little shocked. So I asked her about it. She said some semi-drunk guy made a pass at her.

And that's when it all crystallized for me. You see, up until this point, some deep dark part of my ego thought that girl had picked me over others because, well, I'm just a hunk of a guy.

But, no more.

With that moment of clarity piercing my mind, I told my coworker, "No. That's not soliciting. That's a guy telling you that he thinks you're beautiful and sexy and he want's to sleep with you. Last night was a woman telling me that I look like a middle-age guy with money who isn't getting any."

Check.

Godhood, in a jiffy

All parents are somewhat godly to their young children. We have the kiss that heals all pain. We know everything. And, most importantly, we control the video games and TV time.

But nothing seals in that image of godliness like the first time you show your kids the buttery goodness of a Jiffy Pop Popcorn package.

When we were at the grocery store, they saw them, all lined up, and begged me to get one. So, I picked up a couple and took them home. After dinner, I told them, the magic would start.

Dinner comes and goes, and I grab the package, read the instructions and am dismayed to discover that it says it won't work on the glass/ceramic topped stoves. Now, I'm under pressure. Three kids are staring at me. Waiting.

I read them again. Darnit! It still says it won't work on my stove. Ok, let's think this through. Hmm.... needs to be cooked over a stove on medium heat. Why won't that work on... Oh, DRAT! I get it now... my type of stove doesn't directly control the heating elements. The elements are simply ON or OFF. There's no control. So, 'medium' heat is handled by turning on and off the elements with, say, a 50% duty cycle. Full power for a bit, turn off for a bit, so the average temperature is 'medium.'

At this point, I'm guessing that popcorn needs a constant temperature and won't work properly with the on/off cycle. Can I provide that? My kids are starting to fidget. It's going to get ugly soon.

Perhaps... yes... I can turn on all of my elements to medium, and then move the Jiffy Pop package between positions when the elements go off.

I quickly explain the plan to my wife, who looks at me with newfound concern about her marriage choice. Maybe it was the spittle that went flying as I blurted out my idea.

Anyhow, I put it in operation, racing against the elements, occasionally having to put the Jiffy Pop between elements because they had all cycled on. My kids watch, unimpressed. My wife watches, doubly unimpressed, struggling not to laugh.

And then...

...the popping started. Slowly, but then faster, and suddenly the tinfoil started expanding in to this huge ball! The only things that grew bigger and faster than the popcorn were my daughter's eyes as she watched it. Success!

Popcorn popped.

Godhood firmly locked in.

Maybe it did take a little godliness at that.