We moved into a new house about 6 years ago. Within a few hours, we had met all of our neighbors. We were so excited considering that we had lived in our previous house for 7 years and the only interaction we had had with our neighbors was over the fence and went a little something like this.
"Hey, can you throw our ball back over?"
My mom was even more excited when one of the neighbors told her that all the ladies got together to play Bunco once a month.
"Golly gee, I sure do love a good, wholesome game of Bunco!" (that was foreshadowing. and my mom doesn't really talk like that. we're mormon but not that mormon.)
She went to a few and had a swell time (maybe we really do talk like that...). When February rolled around, she got an invitation for that month's "sexy" Bunco night.
It's a bunch of married, middle-aged women. What's the worst that can happen, right?
Every one was having a good time, playing Bunco and just hanging out. The party was getting a little loud (alcohol will do that to ya) and all the people sipping their Diet Cokes were already starting to get a little uncomfortable. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Someone opened the door to find a young police officer standing on the steps.
"We weren't being that loud were we?" mom thought.
And then she saw the boombox.
"Ok, I have to get out of here. He's in the kitchen. My coat's in the living room. I can do this. Oh my gosh, when did he come into the living room?!"
Needless to say, after an elaborate game of Dodge-The-Stripper, she got her coat and got out of there. She wasn't planning on telling me this story but I'm glad she did.
Oh and in case you were wondering, there hasn't been a Bunco night since. Or at least they haven't invited my mom.