For those of you who don't know me, I can only try to explain that I am, what I call, an introvert extrovert. I have trouble with simple things that others have no problems with. For example, in the past having to telephone someone I don't know to enquire about something would involve a fair amount of huffing and puffing, some pacing of the room and the necessity to write down on a pad everything I needed to say. If the person on the other end of the phone deviated from my script I was totally thrown and stuttered my way through the rest of the conversation. I'm not quite as bad as that now.
Conversely, despite this cripplingly apparent shyness, I could pitch up at a Jazz workshop on my own and stand in front of a group of total strangers doing some improvisational scatting (do-be-do type NOT doo doo type!!) and sing my version of Fever whilst tapping my foot and hand in totally different rhythms from the music (no mean feat I can tell ya).
Bingo should, after that, be a piece of cake however it triggered my flight or shite mechanism or as it shall now be called, my Bingo or barf mechanism, for most of the day. As the time neared for the event I really started to get nervous, I was very quiet in the car and felt rather sick. We got into the venue and the Man purchased the cards, there were rather more of them than I was expecting, some in books, some loose, different colours and all vomit inducing.
There were already games being played in which the numbers appeared to come at such speed that I couldn't even register them. The Man assured me that our games would be called slightly slower, they weren't. The time approached for us to start, I clutched my 'lucky' red pen until my knuckles turned white and stared at the flashing display screen like a bunny caught in the headlights.
Then it began, they started calling the numbers, my face was a picture of steely determination, my heart racing, my body started to heat up and sweat though my hands were ice cold and shaking. Looking first for one line, then two and then a full house. Everytime I was close to potentially getting the last number required my hands shook even more, I could barely mark the page with my pen. Occasionally I would be unable to find the number called and three more would be called after causing a state of panic as I tried to recall each number and mark them off. There was always a huge sense of relief every time someone else called out and that particular game was over.
You may think that this is an exaggeration but it is in fact an accurate account of the state of stress I was under which had the Man giggling as he watched the jibbering wreck that was his Woman sitting opposite.
Soon it was time for an interval and I could breath a huge sigh of relief and neck a glass of wine to steady my nerves. Now that I knew what to expect the second half was a little easier, my heart was still racing and I had a pout of intense concentration on my face accompanied by a furrowed brow that could rival Gordon Ramsey's (pre botox, of course!) but I made it through. By the end of my ordeal, I was a little disappointed that we hadn't won anything but I figure for my first time it was probably just as well. I had the distinct fear that if I had to shout out the first thing out of my mouth would not be "line", "here" or "house" but instead a loud exclaimation of "FUCK!".
That said, I can't wait to go again :-D
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