A Little Bit of Luck

My 85 year old neighbor Art is a real New York character. He has lived in New York City for the better part of his life and claims that the day he leaves will be the day he is "carted out in a box." He is by no means politically correct and often says stuff to M. like, "Can you believe these husbands who wake up early on Saturday to push their kid around in the baby stroller? Their wives are lazy. My wife always took care of all eleven of our children all of the time." Misogyny aside, he is an interesting person who was at one point the reigning United States salsa champion and at another time choreographed all of the dance numbers for a cruise ship on which he toured the world. Sometimes he will share stories with M. and I and we will assume that they are a gross exaggeration only to realize there is some newspaper clipping corroborating their existence or picture proving their occurrence.

On Thanksgiving, after the turkey, I met family at a Connecticut casino for a change of pace. I am not a big fan of casinos and never gamble. After much urging though, I decided to play one game of Roulette. Much to my delight I won 200 dollars immediately on my favorite number and on my only gamble. My neighbor Art, a true gambler who used to frequent the OTB (a place I had never even heard of until I met him) and has M. help him transfer money into his horse racing account (because he is technologically challenged, yet involved in betting that requires internet skills), has claimed that this was extremely lucky since Roulette is a game of pure luck. Therefore, I am posting this for someday when I become the eccentric New York character in the building who tells impossible stories from my youth and need photographic evidence and documentation to prove that my tales are not just another old woman's yarn.