THE BRIDGE PARTY
When we got married I made a deal with the groom: you quit smoking, and I’ll learn to play bridge. He quit many times, but each time he fell off the tobacco wagon, I figured I was off the hook. Our dental insurance covered the only bridges I ever came near.
Eventually he really did quit, and I––stonewalled. All the bridge players I know always, always, always say, “We just play for fun. It’s not that serious.” Then they proceed to snarl their way through the game, kicking their partners under the table. They end up not speaking and get divorced. I’m more of a euchre girl. If you trump your partner’s ace, it’s justifiable homicide. Other than that, it’s fairly relaxed.
I never kept my end of the bargain. That creates some internal conflict, but I can live with it. Guilt and a shredded self-concept are preferable to learning how to play bridge.
I was on my way home from a trip last summer when my husband informed me there was going to be a neighborhood bridge party that very night. We don’t have a neighborhood. And the closest neighbors don’t have that telltale musty smuggy smell of the bridge player. And besides––he knows I can’t play bridge. I figured he was kidding.
There was a bridge party all right, but it was Bridge, Iowa County style. After a year out of commission, the bridge over the Black Diamond Road was finally going to open the next morning.
In a matter of minutes, 60 people from a 5 miles radius arrived for a bridge opening party. They came on bikes, in cars, and on 4X4s. They ranged from the wrinkled newborn to the wrinkled octogenarian.
Tailgates dropped and Weber cookers, 8 ft. tables, beer coolers, and chairs appeared. There was pea salad, glorified rice, 7 layer salad, bean dip, burgers, chicken, rolls and mostly there were pies oh my. It was wonderful to have the bridge open. It was inspiring to have the bridge open while eating cherry pie.
A realistic man, my husband gave me credit for being at a bridge party, and our long-standing deal was satisfied.
I was on my way home from a trip last summer when my husband informed me there was going to be a neighborhood bridge party that very night. We don’t have a neighborhood. And the closest neighbors don’t have that telltale musty smuggy smell of the bridge player. And besides––he knows I can’t play bridge. I figured he was kidding.
There was a bridge party all right, but it was Bridge, Iowa County style. After a year out of commission, the bridge over the Black Diamond Road was finally going to open the next morning.
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| The bridge over Old Man's Creek––open at last |
In a matter of minutes, 60 people from a 5 miles radius arrived for a bridge opening party. They came on bikes, in cars, and on 4X4s. They ranged from the wrinkled newborn to the wrinkled octogenarian.
Tailgates dropped and Weber cookers, 8 ft. tables, beer coolers, and chairs appeared. There was pea salad, glorified rice, 7 layer salad, bean dip, burgers, chicken, rolls and mostly there were pies oh my. It was wonderful to have the bridge open. It was inspiring to have the bridge open while eating cherry pie.
A realistic man, my husband gave me credit for being at a bridge party, and our long-standing deal was satisfied.
