I'm not sure where I was at the time, but I was gone, daddy, gone when Mrs. Otis called.
"There's someone in front of our house doing yard work."
"Don't stop him," I said. You know, it's like what you do when a pit bull takes an affection to your leg. "Let him finish."
Now, in this day and age of "Desperate Housewives," a husband might have reason to worry. I mean, if the old lady isn't popping Ritalin like Pez or poisoning her husband, she's probably getting the high hard one from the lawn boy.
Now, if a neighbor had been watching, she might've been a bit intrigued. See, Mrs. Otis eventually let this yard guy in the house, offered him a beer, and he didn't leave for more than an hour.
Scandal, I'm sure the neighbors could surmise, was brewing like hot cider on a Carolina autumn night.
As it turned out, the lawn boy was a buddy of mine. Had it been G-Rob, I might've been a bit worried. As it turned out, it was another buddy who was just killing time while...well, while his boyfriend was busy.
***
I do my best to make sure Mrs. Otis isn't desperate. I make every effort to take care of my marital obligations and such. Still, Mrs. Otis knows about the other women. There's Nicky, Paris, Siegfried, and Roy. Not to mention the Brothers Hooker, the Kings of the Court, and a host of others.
Yeah, Mrs. Otis is one Desperate Poker Housewife.
Sure, she won Pokerati's Poker Wife of the Year and it was much deserved. Still, she's given to moments where my after-work late night poker sessions give her the red ass. And not in the good way.
Normally, as I am a complete ass, I push these thoughts to the back of my mind and concentrate more on whether I should once again try the old limp re-raise with aces under the gun.
But now we're about to try something completely different. We're going to Vegas.
***
There was a time many years ago where Mrs. Otis indulged me in taking a trip that was specifically designed for my interests. We hit Colorado with a rack full of skis and a cabinet full of booze. My college buddies met us there and we geared up for several days of deep powder and deep tumblers.
Oh, yeah. Mrs. Otis had never been on a pair of skis.
Now, I would like to say it ended badly because Mrs. Otis was a real bitch. In fact, she tried really hard but I ended up catching the flu and ruining the trip. She was a real trooper.
But now we're trying something different.
Yeah, we're going to Vegas.
***
Mrs. Otis has never been to Vegas.
***
Those of you have been with me to Vegas know how it goes. Otis says he'll meet you for lunch, but doesn't show up. He thought he'd play an hour-long session before the buffet, but is stuck a couple hundy and vowing to make it back. Catch you at dinner. Dinner rolls around and you find Otis in the same cardroom at a different table. He says he's up a couple hundy and can't leave the game because it's too good. So, you sit down and have a bowl of fake gumbo with him. By ten o'clock Otis has been up and down as much as five hundred and he's started drinking. Then, midnight rolls around and Otis is tipping the dealers ten percent of every pot and screaming for the big TV to bring back the monkey. At 2am you go to bed as Otis promises he'll meet you for breakfast. When you wake up at 10am, Otis is drinking Irish coffee. tipping the dealer 90% of every pot, and screaming for the monkey to get him some damned breakfast.
And that's not to mention the detour to the Pai Gow table while you were sleeping.
***
Mrs. Otis knows how to party. In Aruba she was seen dancing on bars, hanging out of windows, and wearing silly hats.
I think this fact may be my only hope.
Actually, there's another hope. She goes by the name of Mrs. Can't Hang.
***
Yeah, that's the ticket.
***
So, this is how I see this trip playing out. Mrs. Otis, Mrs. Blood, and Mrs. G-Rob are coming in blind with no idea what to expect. I suspect other members of the WPBT Desperate Housewives Club may be in the same boat.
See, Mrs. Can't Hang is a diplomat. I've seen her in action twice. She is the perfect balance of understanding wife and willing accomplice. She's happy to not only be along for the ride but actually participate.
Now, I don't want to out any undue burden on Mrs. CH, but I hope she serves as a shining example of how wives CAN have fun in Vegas.
***
Now, am I actually worried? Well, no. Not really. As I said, Mrs. Otis is a trooper and, when she wants to be, a party girl.
That's one of the reasons I love her, after all.
So, here is an open invitation to buy my wife drinks and tell her that Otis really will join her for breakfast.
As long as she doesn't mind leftover fake gumbo and Irish coffee.