Senior Center Bridge

OMG.

Remember how I said now that Tom's dead I have to put myself 'out there' and try to find some new pals? Let me just say... I don't think they're at the Senior Center in Sarasota, Florida.

It's a beautiful facility right on the curve as 41, also known as the Tamiami Trail, winds around the outskirts of downtown and brings you to one of the prettiest views Sarasota offers, the waterfront park - a lovely vista to be sure.

Then I went inside.

I was greeted by possibly The Oldest Living Human I have ever seen; all cuted up, she was in bright whites and perky yellows, make-up perfection on her Appalacian apple doll face. She showed me where to sign in and couldn't have been nicer personally walking me to the seating area where party bridge players generally congregated Tuesday at 1:00 before they headed off to play in a room on the upper level.

One, two, three ladies in their mid-to-late 70's came in, sat down at my table, chatted me up - mainly about which 'regulars' would not be there today due to death, disease, or having out of town guests!? A couple men came just as we were egressing to the bridge room and actually did a verbal "Mutt and Jeff" routine which you would have had to be as old as my older sister to have even recognized as humor but I laughed because I at least had an inkling it was a 'routine'.

Red flags were already waving in my head and my heart telling me to "Get out! Get out while there's still time!" but I was determined and sat down smiling as if 'I meant to do that' a la Pee Wee Herman.

Our fourth came in and I kid you not she was 88. (Everyone who's 88 LEADS with that information in case you didn't know!)She was deaf as a post AND announced she couldn't shuffle OR draw in the tricks because she was having shoulder replacement surgery next Friday.

Ye gods.

I must digress just a bit and tell you that when I play bridge with my regular Wednesday Night People I have a three rubber maximum on how long I'll play. After three rubbers my brain starts to shut down and I can't operate at full capacity any more because by that time all I can really think about is wanting to be home in a nice hot tub reading the latest Jack Reacher novel.

We girls played - ready - NINE RUBBERS of bridge!! We were, quite literally, the last table of four living humans still left in the room. At least two rubbers prior I started getting punchy and by the middle of rubber nine I was begging them to please, please, please let me go.

They thought I was very funny, that my protestations and drole rejoinders begging for mercy were humorous. All three of these women, you understand, were VERY sharp and two of them at least were probably more talented than I at actually playing bridge. They were pleasant, allowed chatting, forgave mistakes, didn't dwell on errors... all good things. But were they candidates for The Widow Judy's Brand new Clubhouse?

I'm afraid not.