We spent Saturday evening at a charity bingo competition at a church in Westtown.
It's amazing, the power of a simple bingo card. Across the table from us was a sophisticated, urbane guy who, during the week, jets around solving high-stakes problems for corporations. After a seemingly endless streak of non-winning cards, he started wailing, "I'm a loser! Loser!" and making an L-shape (designating "Loser") with his thumb and forefinger.
Another intensely frustrated man at our table would mutter, "No! no!" every time the caller announced a number that didn't help his cause. When he finally scored a bingo, we were all relieved.
Trading of prizes was encouraged. Dearest Partner swapped some pineapple-scented towelettes for a set of BBQ tools (he doesn't wear makeup; she doesn't have a grill), and I was happy to accept three boxes of Fourth of July sparklers from a woman who says they make her nervous. My $10 Wawa gift card was not a candidate for swapping.
One man won five bingos and generously started giving his prizes to people who hadn't won. A horse trainer at our table ended up with a set of three little beanbags, opened the box and started juggling them expertly. Who knew?!
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