Rooked Hits The Road

Well…yes. She told me, in no Uncertain Terms, that I needed a vacation and that I was taking one…whether I liked it or not.
I told her “Fine.” I left it with her to make all the arrangements and book passage and I just kept my head down and hoped that I wouldn’t find myself locked in a steamer trunk on the way to Tierra del Fuego.
She called back later in the day while I was at my desk and gave me the news: We were booked to fly out on the 27th for a few days in Fabulous Las Vegas.
Now, you must know, if you plan to take your Show on the road, that the secret is to never forget this basic fact: Any Good Act Swings. And that’s what the people want…and it’s my job to give it to them. So I’ve already loaded my bags with booze, fireworks and marital aids. I’m just hoping for the Best…on all fronts.
Now…I mentally prepared myself for all the obstacles I feel sure we’ll have to negotiate if we want our trip to be successful.
First:
No Gambling. (She immediately put the kybosh on this and told me, to the penny, how much of my money she had allotted for us to gamble.)
Second:
I can not go sideways and embark on some kind of half-bent, Hunter S. Thompsonian romp down the strip. (This is absurd. If you’re in Vegas…you have to. I think it’s some kind of law out there.)
Third:
I can not tour the show-bars looking for Skinny Memphis, even despite her vaguely mentioning that she was headed out there to find work. (I promised Her I wouldn’t go looking but, last week, I got a report from the Gorch Brothers that Skinny Memphis had, indeed, gone out to Vegas and was now doing three shows a night at a private club and that she’s changed her name to Skinny Vanilla. Now…I just need to think of an excuse to slip away for a few hours.)
Fourth:
I refuse to go see any show prefaced with the name Cirque de Soleil. (It turns out She already has tickets for the First Show on the 27th. Yep…Bought and paid for and there’s no way for me to get out of it either.)
Finally:
I refuse to buy into, or have any part of, all this hokey-ass, ad campaign “What happens in Vegas…Stays in Vegas” bullshit. (But I’m already trying to decide what I should call myself when I get out there. So far, I’ve got: Rex Beaver; or maybe, Hung Wellington; and I might even use Buster Cherry. You never know…this could be my Big Break into the Porn Industry. Despite FLG's warnings. Vegas is, after all, Sin City.)
I just hope that She and I can see eye to eye on all these things.

Well…then again, it is my first vacation in a long time and I guess I should be grateful…and I am. Up to a point.