What happens in Vegas...

…Stays in Vegas. Unless there’s nothing to hide, right? So, hiding nothing, I’ll tell you what happened in Vegas…

April, Adrienne and I hit the road at 6:30 p.m. to start our Girls Weekend (celebrating April and Adrienne’s 31st Birthdays). Four hours of talking about work, homes, cars and families and we were there. Dropped our bags off at the condo, freshened up and hit the Strip about 11 p.m. I’m normally counting sheep by this late hour, but this is our only night in Vegas, and we are determined to not let sleep, or any other concerns overpower us.

We could hear the music before we knew where it was coming from, and decided to make our first stop the outdoor Karaoke bar. I’m all about free entertainment. A drunk man dressed in short white Levi shorts, white sneakers and tube socks with a microphone singing “Stroke It” (I’m still not sure how anyone got away with recording this song) will forever be the highlight of the Karaoke Bar. But add to that a 50 year old gal dressed in a purple shirt, saggy boobs with no bra, greasy hair slicked back into a pony tail revealing gray roots, body odor which almost overpowered the liquor on her breath, singing and dancing along to “Stroke It” and we’ve got ourselves a Free Vegas Show. While this gal wasn’t quite what I had in mind when envisioning “Dancing Girls”, she sure was entertaining. And Free.

The smells of the cigarette smoke, alcohol, and body odor eventually became more than we could handle, so on to greener pastures (yeah, right) we went. With hot and swelling bodies, we stopped at the local ABC (aren’t those just supposed to be in Hawaii?) to get a liter of water each and continued on foot down the road toward the Venetian. It’s 1:50 a.m. by this point. Our feet are tired and we decide to hoist ourselves up on the wall in front of the Venetian and wait for the next water show to begin. Oh Man!!! The water shows ended at 11 p.m. With nowhere in mind to go, and still wanting to give our feet a rest, we stay put. Along come 6-7 handsome young men. The one with the Australian accent asks if he can ask us a question.
“Where are you from?”
“Arizona.”
“Hmmmm. Can I ask you a strange question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you LDS?”
We laugh and ask how he can tell, is it the long shorts, the shirts that cover all of our cleavage, or the water bottles in our hands. That was a proud moment. Of course we stood out. We had more clothes on than any other lady on the Strip. Discovering that this group of young men were actually returned missionaries from the Phillipines explained it all. They stayed and chatted for a bit longer, found out that we were all married and politely went on their way.

Still sitting in front of the Venetian, another group of young men approached us asking what we thought of the little girl on the leash skipping down the Strip while her mom, the holder of the leash, was making out while walking with some dude (hand in back pocket, of course). I asked the young man if he had kids. No he doesn’t. While I have never used a leash for my boys, I can certainly understand why some would choose to do so. It’s for safety. Those little tikes can escape in a sea of people too quickly. It was the skipping down the Strip at 2 a.m. that concerned me.

These sweet college-aged young men sat and chatted with us for at least an hour. I’m not really sure why. We told them about our kids. Our husbands. Our careers. Our church. They told us about college. Their majors. Their siblings. Their parents. What was the common link? Was it that we were the first sober girls they had run into who could carry on a good conversation? Was it our “motherly instinct” that made them feel comfortable chatting with us? Was it our good looks? (I hope that had a little something to do with it…I still want to be seen as attractive.) We’ll never know. But what I do know is that they had a good exposure to Mormon women. And one day down the road when the missionaries knock on their doors, maybe they’ll remember us and what we stood for. Maybe they’ll remember our family values. Maybe they’ll remember our modesty. Maybe they’ll remember our kindness. Maybe they’ll want to learn more…

3 a.m. We’re hungry. We set off to find a shake place. Fat Boy Burgers, here we come. This place was hoppin! I would have thought it was the middle of the day with all the lively people crammed into this little shop. Their cookies and cream shake was phenomenal! There was something special in that vanilla ice cream. More vanilla. It was SO tastey! With full tummies, we headed back to the condo.

4:30 a.m. I still can’t believe our heads didn’t hit the pillows until 4:30! Who does that?! We did. Because we could. Because we didn’t have kids who would need us in the morning. Because we didn’t have husbands who would need us in the morning. Because we could sleep until we were ready to wake up.

9:30 a.m. Dustin calls. I guess we were wrong about husbands not needing us.
9:40 a.m. Andrew calls. I guess we were wrong about kids not needing us.

OK. We’re up. We head to the lazy river and float until 11:30 then head back, shower and check out by noon. Still wanting to maximize our Vegas time, we go shopping. To the outlets. And we shop. And we shop. And we shop. We shop the outlets until about 7 p.m. And then we head to Marshall’s where we shop some more. Until 9 p.m. Shopping for 8 hours. Who DOES that?! Well, we did, of course. Because we could. Because we didn’t have husbands waiting for us. Because we didn’t have kids waiting for us.

We drive through Taco Bell and hit the road about 9:30 p.m. I’m driving. With the little sleep we got, I’m nervous about staying awake. But Adrienne was my faithful co-pilot and kept me chatting the whole way home. We got to Wickenburg around 1 a.m. Phew. Only 30 minutes until we get home. We can make it. We WILL make it. We’ve driven through some pretty good rain/thunder storms. But it’s clear now.

It’s 1:30 a.m. Where is Surprise? Why don’t I see any lights? I start looking for road signs. Sure enough, we are on US60. Headed toward….WHAT?!?! WENDEN?!?! How did that happen? As it turns out, if going through all the round abouts in Wickenburg and you turn a quarter turn too early, you head toward Wenden, NOT Surprise. BLAST!!! We are all SO tired! We are all SO ready to climb in our own beds where our husbands are waiting for us. And we have to turn around. Back through the rain/thunder storms. Back toward Wickenburg. Back through the round about. And I make ANOTHER wrong turn at that blasted round about! “Curse you, round about!” We stop at a gas station to go potty, fill up the tank and ask directions. It’s raining. Again. Still. We’re finally on the right path. Driving through more rain. Hydroplaning. Counting our blessings of safety. Arriving home to our warm, comfy beds 90 minutes after we had planned.

So, here’s the analogy…On the road of life, we have many choices. There is a master plan. There are road signs telling us where we are heading, and which turn we should make to get us to our desired destination. And if we’re not alert, or let our guards down, we might start heading down a different road. One that won’t take us to our desired destination. The destination might still be pleasant, but it won’t have our comfy bed. It won’t have our loving spouse. It won’t have our children. It might be enjoyable for a short time, but not for the longer time.

But we can always turn around. We can always ask for directions. We might get to our desired destination a little later than planned, but we can still get there. But first we have to recognize that we made a mistake. We have to want to reach that final destination more than we want to continue on our adventurous road trip. And then, our comfy bed, loving spouses and children will be awaiting us with open arms.