B-I-N-G-O

When I was in elementary school, I loved playing bingo. I even loved it more than Heads Up Seven Up. There was always someone in class who would peek under their arm and identify the person who touched their finger by looking at the person's shoes. I've always hated cheaters, and it's impossible to cheat at bingo. The card never lies.

On Shreveport Barksdale Highway, there's a huge bingo parlor that grabs my attention each time I drive passed. The sign lures me in with words like "$5,000 jackpot." And since I love bingo so much, I really can't think of a more fun way to come into some extra cash. 

As fate would have it, my friend Nancy was also fascinated by the bingo parlor. To describe Nancy, she's the gal who gets the time set, party planned and the group rounded up. So a few weeks ago, we played bingo. Needless to say, Nancy brought the dobbers. 

There were about 12 in our group, and I thought it would be such a fun way to get together and do something out of the ordinary. However, this bingo is nothing like the game I played in elementary school. There's about 20 different ways to fill up a card, and none of the descriptions make any sense. Thank goodness for the lady sitting next to me, she was a pro and willing to help. You had twelve cards to blot for each game, which required an extraordinary amount of concentration. 

If you'll notice in the picture above, no one is smiling and no one is talking. Bingo didn't turn out to be quite the social event we'd hoped for. In fact, when we left the parlor, our friend Matt put it best, "I feel like I just got done taking the ACT." 

It really was that bad, and even worse, none of us won a thing. Maybe the next time I crave a game of bingo, I'll just pay a visit to my third grade teacher.