No, not ours. For once we are innocent.
Recall that our friend and skating coach Joan had had an accident at a company dance—in which a woman in stiletto heels crunched Joan’s foot and gave her a ‘stress’ fracture on the outside of her foot. For a skating coach, this is depressing—and she’s unable to work, and it’s right before the fancy Las Vegas vacation she’d been so looking forward to after a very rough year and two stints in the hospital. She’d gotten clothes. Shoes. I mean, this is a woman who deserves this vacation, and it looked as if she couldn’t go. Her foot in a cast. Unable to drive…let alone dance.

Well, we felt sorry for Joan, and figured her husband would be at the business expo in Vegas, and Joan would be home limping about the house. So we decided to give her a call to ask (Thursday) if she’d like to go visit the pond place (with ponds) out in the Valley and go with us to Scotty’s, our favorite Valley watering-hole.

I ring her cell. This strange background noise comes on, and a deep male voice which isn’t her husband. I say: “Joan?” He says, “No, but that’s probably who this phone belongs to.” Me: “She’s lost her phone. Where is this?” [Sounds like a bar, not improbable, but which?]

He: “This is the security office at Caesar’s Palace. Right across from Cleopatra’s barge.”

Well! Now the only thing to do is ring her husband’s phone and tell him where Joan’s phone is, but we haven’t got the number. We turned this duty over to OSG, who does have the appropriate number, and do not feel quite as sorry for Joan as we did. 😆 We hope she’s dancing, if only on one foot, that she wins a ton at the tables, and meanwhile we’re going out to the pond place after planting rhododendrons in sincere hope, this time, that these ones live.