sweet charity

Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday ever.

Halloween? One can only take so much orange and black. Arbor Day? All hype. Christmas? Sorry; no holiday that lasts 3 months can possibly sustain it's momentum. Give me good old St. Valentine’s any day.

Following a tradition that dates all the way back to last year Turk and I made reservations at the reservation for a little R & R ~ because, as I’ve said before, nothing says ‘Romance’ like Indian Casino. This time it was just outside the tiny town of Temecula, where the Pechanga tribe plays host to a 4 diamond resort and casino. Although not huge gamblers, we enjoy a change of scenery and the excitement of lots of bells and whistles. Bright, shiny things make us smile.

My goal was to make enough money playing Blackjack to pay for the hotel stay, or at least for dinner. Of course, this strategy pretty much never works. I don’t actually win. The best I can ever do is break even. While I am a very bad card player, I do enjoy the game. Turk’s goal was to make sure we didn’t leave destitute. I thought I’d warm up on the slot machines.

And I promptly won $1000 playing ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Actually, I won $1072, but when you’re as rich as I am now, you don’t count the chump change.

“Oh, I can SO afford to pay dinner!” I squealed in amazement at my wheel spinning prowess.

“Oh, and you are SO going to get to!” said Turk. “And do not dance around waving that money in the air.”

“What do you take me for ~ an idiot?” I said, dancing and waving the money in the air.

“Yeah, right. Put the money in your jeans.”

“My lucky jeans, you mean.”

“Okay. C’mon, Lucky. You get to buy me a drink.”

I’d brought the soft, teal-colored little somethin’ somethin’ with a deeply plunging neckline to wear under the bright, sparkly little somethin’ else. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed the tendency of the draping neckline to drift dramatically apart with movement, revealing a bit more of the girly bits than I was strictly comfortable with. I grabbed Turk by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

“You have but one purpose in life tonight, and that is to keep an eye on my blouse and tell me if my bra is showing.” He wasn’t listening to me. He was watching golf over my shoulder.

“I mean it. I’m depending on you to not let me embarrass myself. This is not Vegas, and I can’t go around with my breasts hanging out. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Cleavage patrol. Don’t worry. I’m on it.”

Needless to say, an hour later I was sashaying around the restaurant with my Wonderbra on full display.

“I give you one lousy job to do…” I complained, returning from the ladies’ room, where I’d gotten an eyeful. “I’m not sure you have the dedication required to be my Valentine.”

“I was distracted,” he said.

“By what?”

“By…your beautiful eyes.” He grinned.

“Forget it. You only love me for my money.”

“You betcha. Now get the check. I hear there’s karaoke in the cabaret lounge!”

So we had a truly lovely romantic dinner in an attractive and intimate setting. We played some more and didn’t lose. We listened to terrible amateur singing and enjoyed it immensely. We might even have danced but for the threat of further wardrobe malfunction, although by then it’s safe to say the point was pretty much moot. And not only is everything paid for, but I’ve even got a little left over for a rainy day.

I love you, St. Valentine. Thanks for everything. You have always been my favorite Saint.