My baby has gone to college. I am standing in his empty room, contemplating my empty life. The phone rings. It’s Holly. “Bridge lessons? Why?” But then why not. At that point my friend could have suggested fly fishing or funnel cake baking and I would have gone. But it just so happened to be bridge and bridge was where I follow her.
The next day we head out to a place called the Bridge Center, oddly enough. It’s in a drab office park and while its industrial carpeting and fluorescent lighting aren’t exactly warm and welcoming, I soon find out the people are.
Noel is our teacher. She is pretty and nice. She is teaching beginning bridge. And when I read the first page of the beginning text book titled Bidding, I feet confident. It starts out: “There are four suits in a deck of 52 cards.” Simple. This should be fun...
Fast forward...It’s been four weeks since we began our bridge lessons. I liked Noel at first. But now she is saying things like, “The opener can open the bidding with 12 or more points. The overcaller with 7 to 17. The responder to the opener must bid with at least 6 points and the advancer to the overcaller must remember to only count on her partner for 7 points.” And if that wasn’t bad enough she continues with, “A strong hand is opened with an artificial bid of 2 clubs which has nothing to do with the club suit and, in fact, if you do have a strong hand in clubs, ignore it...”
By the end of the Bidding series, I’m thinking back on the phone call I received from Holly and wishing she had suggested rocket science lessons instead. I think I could have done that...
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