Recently I did a turn-around trip to Las Vegas with my sister, Kelli. The occasion that prompted the trip was that her two best friends, Kyle and Todd, from high school would be staying there for a week in a time-share. Between the guys' military service and moving to different states, Kelli doesn't have many opportunities to see them so this was not to be missed. We left on a Sunday, but she had to be back by Monday evening because she had a very important meeting for her job on Tuesday.
Now, my sister is very responsible. She didn't need me to keep her out of trouble (I'm usually the one who needs bailing out). I was basically her designated driver for the ride home. Kelli hadn't seen Todd and Kyle in a few years; she is a mother to a toddler and career driven. 24 hours - kid + her high school BFFs = party, party, party until the breaka-breaka dawn. I would be hauling a very hungover sister home.
I packed yoga pants and tanks-tops, flip-flops, and a book. Kelli packed three pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans, several blingy tops, and a dress.
A few minutes after she informs me that she's wasted and working her way back to the hotel, I get "Can you come get me?" As I am sliding out of bed, I get "I'm getting a cab."
Good thinkin' sis.
I meet her and her friends in the casino of the hotel. The guys are wide-eyed and jovial; Kelli is slouched over an empty Blackjack table.
Been there; done that.
The guys make sure that I know what a "trooper" she was. If two career military men claim that a "civilian" can keep up with their drinking, that makes one's badass status official.
I escort Kelli back to the room and pour her into bed.
She wakes up at around 8 a.m. saying, "I don't feel that bad."
That's because she's still drunk, but I decide not to burst her bubble.
By 10 a.m., she's near death. She anticipated this condition so she arranged for a late check-out time. See what I mean? Responsible.
I knock around the casino for a bit, return to the room to see if Kelli is up for lunch. My suggestion of a meal sends her scurrying to the bathroom; I am on my own.
Grabbing my book, I head down to the America cafe, belly up to the bar and order a cheeseburger. As I am reading, the host cruises by, stops short, looks at me and says, "Wow, you don't see much of that anymore."
At first, I think he's referring to my hotness. Then my heart sinks as I realize that he's referring to my reading. The monologue of how the decline of civilization is because nobody reads is scrolling through my head.
He saunters over, leans on the bar next to me and says, "All you see these days is people with their electronic books. I haven't seen an actual book in a long, long time.
At this point, I'm near suicide. Only recently have I acquired and electronic reader and I've yet to use it.
Both Kelli and I were moaning in agony on the way home.