Our first evening in Laughlin, NV., and here we are in our hotel room at the Golden Nugget. Mr. Man was way too happy. He repeated his rave about the wonderful shower after his hot tub session several times in the course of a few minutes until I finally hustled him out of the room to get dinner at one of the hotel restaurants downstairs.
By the time we made it to Joe’s Crab Shack, he was pretty toasted. I’d never seen him so drunk. We were seated at a table outside where it was nice and warm (it was FREEZING inside), right over the river. I ordered an entree salad with blackened shrimp. I thought he would go for the beef, but he only ordered the calamari appetizer for himself after repeatedly asking me if I wanted calamari as an appetizer (which I always want, silly boy).
Well, for the most part, the dinner conversation consisted of how high the water level in the river was. It was obviously not at a lack for water and as high as it seemed it could be in fair weather. And, Mr. Man pointed out that there can’t possibly be a water shortage, the government is scamming us, and that most of the water goes to Mexico. Yes, he pointed it out over-and-over again. No water shortage… water to Mexico… government scam—okay, got it.
The food came quickly and my salad was excellent, as was his calamari of which he choose to eat with his “chopsticks.”
Now his “chop sticks” were, in fact, the flimsy plastic drinking straws that came with our iced teas. Hello?? “Um, Honey, those are NOT chopsticks.” I tried, oh so gently to point out, but he didn’t care and forged ahead using his chopstick straws dipping as deeply into the cocktail sauce as he could weighing down his catch till the camel’s back finally broke and I had to hand him his fork. I also shared a good portion of my salad with him, which he drowned in the Cesar dressing I ordered on the side. A spoon would be in order for slurping up that mess. Or, he could have used the straws, but they were done deals.
We made through dinner then back to the room where I hoped he would pass out, but nooooo, he wanted to go back down to the Jacuzzi, AND this time, he wanted me to go in with him. Just to keep the peace, I agreed.
Back on went the swimwear, then down to the pool. It was dusk and very pleasant, though still hot. I like that kind of heat.
Now, along with air-conditioning, I’m not a big fan of hot tubs. One extreme to another. But in this case, from hot to… um… hot? But, okay, I got in.
He insisted (over and over) I try the ultra-hard jet that he loved. I (over and over) flatly refused. I was fine with the gentlest one on my lower back. I was in the hot tub and he should be happy with that, for heaven’s sake. But he was not. I watched as the ultra-hard jet plummeted him like a machine gun… no way, Jose—not for me. And I stood my ground. Or rather “sat my ground” in quiet jet comfort.
He also repeatedly got out to look for his “drink” which he did not bring down with him, and no matter how many times I told him, he looked anyway. I finally got out, sat next to the river in the in hopes it would be prettier (no luck), dried off, then retreated back to the room, leaving Mr. Man to his machine-gun hot tub and drink hunting vigil.
I knew he didn’t have a room key with him, and I really wanted to take a rinse off shower, but waited for him to return cause, go figure, he would as I was in the shower. I waited and waited then started getting worried as he was quite a bit over the limit. I went back down to fetch him and found him, once again, wandering around looking for his drink. I reiterate, I have never seen him so inebriated. I managed to get him back to the room, “Look, Honey, I found your cup!”
“Oh, there it is!”
To be continued…