indulge

"You're depressed. Let's go to the casino." And so my Friday night started.

Pregnancy blues were getting me down, and even though my mother-in-law was babysitting L (who is well on the road to recovery) I could think of no place I wanted to go. Enter the husband.

We live within easy driving distance of a handful of casinos, and not-so-easy driving distance of Vegas. Not having been gambling since Mystic Lake in Minnesota, I thought the idea had some vague appeal to it. Every so often you have to take advantage of places that don't let in people under 18 (or is it 21 here in CA?).

I'm proud to say that I won the race to lose my $10 faster than him. He, on the other hand, came out about $50 ahead and paid for our buffet dinner of prime rib.

Casinos these days are pretty well made to cater to your indulgences. This particular casino hotel was advertising "European rose mud pedicures." It was as if they just threw together random words that appealed to women in a marketing test. Despite the obvious addictions--money, alcohol, cigarettes, food, and hourly grand prize drawings--I was impressed to see two well-stocked desert and coffee bars on the gambling floor. Glass cases were loaded with cheesecakes and chocolate truffles, complete with a neon sign in sprawling cursive: "indulge."

Now that was a good idea.