No, I Do Not Have a Gambling Problem

It is Monday, and it is the dawn of the second week I have been the resident of a casino in Biloxi, Mississippi.

No, I do not have a gambling problem.

What I do have, however, is a husband who is the new territory manager of a huge chunk of coastal Mississippi and Louisiana, and he has to work.  Even though we have no house.

My wake up call?  Sunlight streaming over the bay and bathing the fishing ships in the morning sun and streaming into my window.  My neighbors?  Mostly quirky older couples (with fannie packs and tube socks) who wake up early to hit the buffet and then settle in at the casino.  My days?  Visiting house after house (after house) usually to discover that there is visible water damage present or that the neighboring yard is full of large, mistreated (and therefore aggressive) dogs.  My nights?  Dozing off with craiglist open on my computer screen and a list of potential homes at my side.

We did, however, visit the casino Saturday night, just for kicks.  It might has well have been a foreign planet, or the Chuck-E-Cheese of the adult world.  Take your pick.  After fighting our way through the smoke and the cougars with their cocktails, we managed to lose about $40 in slot machines in what must be record time, so we fled back to our room where we could pretend like everything is normal.

But it's not.  We live in a casino, for crying out loud!  At least there's a lady to make the bed.


Has your husband's job ever taken you somewhere strange?