Saturday, August 21, 2010

My Obsession

It’s fascinating to me how we all obsess about the craziest things; the little things you just can’t get out of your mind, but know are absolutely ridiculous. Mind obsession happens to everyone, I guess, and right now I’m in one of those obsessing states.

A local restaurant, let’s call it Harold’s Inn because that’s it’s name, not only has great food, but in the summer they open the patio for dinner, drinks, and some fun things to do like a game of trivia or a little music. My friends and I have been going there on Tuesday evenings for Bar Bingo, a fun and relaxing way for us to spend a little time together on a summer night. We sit on the patio, have a couple of drinks and the wait staff passes out Bingo daubers and Bingo sheets. We play about 10 games and the prizes are things like a bucket of chicken, a grass skirt and pineapple bra, t-shirts, a free desert. I once won a free Chicken Wrap, my first and only Bingo win.

I’m not a Bingo person and I suspect the people playing Bar Bingo aren’t the same people who go to the weekly Bingo games around town hoping to win the big money jackpot. In fact, I had only been to one Bingo before, an all night affair, and I was a Bingo dud. That’s because me and my friend Ronnie didn’t pay attention to our Bingo cards, chatted and visited with each other and everyone else, ate a whole bunch of greasy bar food, and got really punchy as the whole all night thing went on and on and we got more and more tired. Ronnie’s mom was with us and she was annoyed at our lack of reverence for the game so she ended up watching all of our Bingo cards, along with all of her own 30 or 40 cards, and never forgave us for our lack of proper Bingo conduct. She goes to Bingo halls 5 or 6 nights a week and is as close to a professional Bingo lady as you can get.

Last Tuesday at Bar Bingo we were having a great time, not winning but having fun. The second drink usually increases the fun, I’ve found. The Bingo caller was another friend of ours, sort of our own “Celebrity Bingo Caller” for the evening. The whole Bar Bingo thing only lasts about an hour and our table wasn’t winning but we were happily entertained by Celebrity Bingo Caller Kate who was already celebrating her upcoming birthday and was in high spirits.

The games moved along quickly and the prizes were doled out to the winners. Suddenly, I heard Celebrity Bingo Caller Kate announce that the prize won was a bucket of wingettes. Now, you may think this is a typo, but it isn’t - the prize was a bucket of wingettes.

When the suffix “ette” is added to the end of a word, it usually implies that something is petite; think of a barrette to hold a little bit of hair in place, a little car called a Corvette, a kitchenette, a statuette, a vignette, etc. So what is a wingette? The wings of a hummingbird? A canary? A sparrow? And what would you serve with wingettes? It would have to be something small too, maybe 3 peas or 5 corn kernels, possibly a tiny side of 10 grains of rice? And it would all need to be on a little thing like a dishette, I guess.

I’m not a fan of chicken wings because to me it seems there is very little chicken meat on a little chicken wing and I don’t do well with bones in my food, so I could barely contain my amazement at the thought of what a wingette could be and how much meat would be on one. And the Harold’s Inn menu advertises Jumbo Wingettes! How can something that is an “ette” also be jumbo, I wonder.

I also obsessively fear that the wingettes were the wings of my dearly departed, recently hosed to death friend, Robbee Zee Robin. Have I inadvertently created a banquette by my poor actionette with the hose faucette?

I want to get this obsession obliterated from my mind quickly, so I may have to order some Jumbo Wingettes and find out for myself what they are. I know with certainty, though, that if Harold’s Inn cooks them and serves them, they are probably pretty good for folks who like picking their food off of poor little bird bones.

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