After ‘The Avenger Experience’ was all over, we met up with the shopping queen at the hotel’s hot dog restaurant where The-Youngest ate 2” of a foot-long hot dog and one fry of his gigantic plate of fries. I ate the rest.
It’s become my worst eating nightmare. I hate paying $12 for a hot dog, but I hate leaving 90% of it behind, so I scarfed it down.
Sure it’s yummy, but it’s also bad news for weight loss. Bad, bad news.
However, the boyz were super excited to tell The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World all about their adventures. They love doing stuff with her, and since she wasn’t there, they needed to tell her everything that they did. And why. With pictures. And sounds. And waving arms or stomping feet (like when they stomped imaginary ants on the floor.)
Like me, it’s only really an adventure if you can share it.
Judging from the look on her face, I think she was glad she didn’t come. I mean, 90 minutes of reading about comic book stuff and looking at Avenger displays, yuck.
When it came her time to tell what The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World did, she was more excited about the clothes she found for the boyz than for herself. Now The-Youngest will look incredibly handsome when he goes to see the Beatles, Love.
Despite us just having lunch, though, it was actually 4pm. Time is different in Vegas. It’s a little odd.
But we were all feeling a little tired, a little footsore and so we retired to our room. I phoned to figure out how to get our tickets, The-Youngest watched Teen Titans on the cartoon network, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World ironed everything in sight and The-Oldest discovered that he forgot to bring pants.
Who forgets pants?
Oh, he had sports shorts, (you know, those mesh-fiber things people normally go to the gym in), but nothing fancy, nothing that was really appropriate for an evening out. He tore apart his suitcase and even looked in the laundry bag in case he actually wore some and, ah, forgot about it.
No matter. It was Vegas. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World looked amazing and so very beautiful by the time she was ready to go. With his new clothes, The-Youngest looked like he ruled the world.
We were officially set for the Cirque du Soleil Beatles – Love.
We took the tram there, collected our tickets and stood in front of the Beatles sign for a picture. Looking awkward and confused when we tried to take selfies, someone came up to us and offered to take our picture. Older fellow. Like older than me, which is old indeed. Dressed in shorts.
He asked where we were from. “Vancouver,” we said. “Canada.”
I’m never quite sure what to tell Americans. There’s a good chance they may not have heard of Vancouver. Or Canada. Or what the capital of their country is. But the older fellow said, “Ah, yes, Canada. You have igloos up there, don’t you? It’s very cold, isn’t it?
“Well, not exactly where we live,” I said. “We’ve got a lot of rain and TV shows.”
“And where are you from?” I asked. Maybe Kansas or something?
“Cloverdale,” he said with a great big smile. About 10 miles from where we live.
We ended up having the best conversation with him, then parted ways. Funny how we met only one person in all of Vegas and he was from Greater Vancouver!
But now was Beatles Time. The-Oldest couldn’t be still. He was so excited.
Would it live up to the hype?