It's finally happened. Middle-age must have officially kicked in, because I'm attending BINGO on Friday nights. But the really interesting part is that I'm surrounded by people speaking in Italian!
My neighbour Gina loves to go to Bingo at the Veneto club, but her husband doesn't enjoy it as much anymore. She asked me if I would drive her on Friday nights when I don't have Ham Radio commitments. They've been good friends to us, so while bingo has never been remotely on my radar, I felt badly at the idea of saying no. A nice little hall with about 100 people, numbers rolling by in Italian and English should be manageable...
This place is ENORMOUS. It's got to be the size of a Las Vegas casino. I'm realising that they really do things big in Australia. Sports bar/gym/restaurant/pokies (slots), plus a gondola moored outside in the (waterless) fountain (well, there is a drought on). The room I was in must have had 400 to 500 people in it.
So there I sit, pink marker in hand, trying to decipher my bingo sheet, listening to conversations with the vague feeling that I ought to be able to understand them. I had that same feeling in college when I visited my roommate's family. After all, I've sung in Italian, done vague translations with an Italian/English dictionary, grew up eating fabulous Italian food and enjoying wonderful friends. Well, with any luck, I'll finally learn how to speak it. Or at least how to count to 90.
What's Italian for "bingo"? Oh yes, BINGO!
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