Impaired

Impaired is a word that is regularly used in Las Vegas. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been to Vegas or any of it’s surrounding towns without having this word come into play.

 

While preparing to head to our hotel pool, we asked a security guard about an alternate route so we would not have to walk through the casino in our swim wear. “Are there any secret tunnels we could use?” I asked. His non-verbal, facial response indicated we were on to something. “I bet you’d take us through those tunnels if we broke the law,” BeCuz told him and added, “I’d be willing to break the law to do that.” “Not me,” I replied. “Me neither. I do background checks for a living – I just want to check them, don’t want to have one,” MiniMe advised. BeCuz shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, as if to imply we were missing out on a great opportunity. Impaired judgment at it’s finest.

 

Later, as we were walking around the strip with our souvenir beverages, we discussed modes of transportation, besides our feet. “They’ve got cabs,” I advised. “Whose got crabs?” BeCuz asked. “Cabs. They’ve got cabs,” I corrected her. “I don’t hear well,” she said. It was true. In addition to being alcohol impaired, she was slightly hearing impaired. This was evident later on when we were dining at a restaurant patio on the strip and some passersby shouted out, “Is the food good?” BeCuz asked, “Do they want us to show them our boobs?” “No!” MiniMe and I exclaimed.

 

It was at this time that I realized BeCuz may actually get to see those secret tunnels.

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