Name Me
I spent the weekend in Vegas. With me were my mom, dad, and sister which makes for an enjoyable yet not surprisingly restrained time. My mother thought it would be good place for transition, a pit stop between a grey summer in Virginia and what I expected to be an orange-ish (burnt orange maybe?) fall in Tucson. So I limboed in Nevada.
Part of Vegas means casinos - means gambling - means free drinks. But what do drinks mean? Especially the free kind? Frequent trips to Vegas restrooms. On one such excursion I followed my mom and sister to a restroom in New York, New York. They went in together while I leaned, arms crossed, and waited.
A short time passed before I was surprised by a hovering figure. A figure draped in white satin with a meshy, lacey veil. I want to say she had a slight glow, but instead I'll remind you of the earlier mention of free drinks. She leaned forward, told me sternly, "You need to smile," and produced a shiny new belt buckle from between the drawstrings of her purse. I took it just before she marched off into a forest of flashing lights and identical burgundy dresses. Gone forever.
I wondered as I turned the gift in my hands, did God just send me a belt buckle?
And if so, I pray:
Dear Lord,
Please send me a sign so I will know where to stand to receive the belt to match.
