Miss Carol hurried home, worked out and hurried out to play bunco tonight.
She says she’s just humoring some old lady she works with- that they need an alternate, a substitute, at the bunco table.
But I don’t know. I’m not so sure.
For example, tonight, just like last time, some guy sporting mirrored aviator sunglasses pulled up in a yellow corvette and before I could go out and introduce myself Miss Carol had sprinted across the yard and leapt into the ‘vette and they’d roared away.
So I stood watching Miss Carol disappear marveling that the bunco players were being picked up in yellow corvettes. Bunco must be fun.
Maybe I should try it sometime.
But bunco must be a hard game too, ’cause last time when Miss Carol got home her skirt was on backwards and she’d lost her bra and her lipstick and hair were all messed up and smeared.
And when I said, Miss Carol what happened!?
She’d smiled kinda blearily at me and said, Bunco, and then she’d gone upstairs to bed and she’d slept for a looooonnnnngggg time.
So I don’t know what’s gonna happen this time.
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