Last weekend we traveled to Vegas for a wedding and was surprised that most the people I saw looked nothing like the commercials.
What happens here, stays here.
They took it with them and I was disappointed. There were the young guys with two beers in their hands, drawing as much attention to themselves as possible, screaming obscenities to no one in particular. Some kind of contest, I think, on who could be the most immature in looks and action.
Then there were our seasoned citizens, with the sandals and black socks, with bellies that looked like one to many buffet hidden under an ill fitting tee shirt, with a stretched Go Diamondbacks across the front. Eyes glazed over from sitting in front of the slot machines and happy because their loss of hearing had made the casino’s bells that continually ring, bearable.
Brothers of the Bleary Eyes
I strutted around scornful and feeling sorry for these less then attractive people until confronted by a mirror, a very big mirror. I was one of them. From that point on people smiled at me, an acknowledgment, we all belong to the same fraternity. We were Brothers and Sisters, and no matter how hard I tried pulling in my stomach, there was no going back and nothing for me leave in Vegas.