We haven’t actually played Bingo yet.  But we laughed hysterically about the two of us in our 70s planning to. It was on a Monday morning when both our weekends were fraught with aches, pains, gurgles and leaks; the aging arthritic bones, airborne abdomens, and runaway bladders.

Laughter is the best medicine when you’re in this kind of an altered body state. So we went further with the plan. What we would wear, what to bring, where to go, and how to get there.

My friend, the storyteller, pronounced that we’d wear polyester outfits, hers powder blue, and mine turquoise. She’d color her white hair a blue haze, and I’d do mine a purple hue. We’d pack up large carry bags, multi-jeweled and waterproof, with sanitizer wipes, nitrile gloves, Lysol spray and discreet Depends. You never know what kinds of bugs lurk in a Bingo parlor, or a public restroom.

Where should we go? Not to repeat her past bingo days in a nursing home with dozing, drooling partners, we expanded thought and place to a local casino, the one with outdoor fountains, animal statues and outlet shops.

Now the question, how do we get there? Do we drive or take a senior tour bus. We’re both of the same mind about the perils of health in public places. If we do the bus we’d be subjected to germ warfare, emergency CPRs, and chit-chat about pills, and medical problems. That’s not for us. We’d definitely drive!

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether we play bingo or not.  It was the Monday morning laugh about the plan to that was the best medicine for us!