The one armed bandit

One-Armed Bandit

Among his poker buddies, my boyfriend is known as Bandit. I like to think his friends refer to my boyfriend as Bandit because of his skill at stealing pots during long, grueling poker sessions, but know it’s because they are simply too lazy to pronounce all five syllables included in his first name.

After winning big at a poker game, Bandit arrived at my house one morning insisting we take our first vacation together. He wanted to leave right away, causing me to briefly consider the possibility he had robbed his friends instead of defeating them at cards. Being self-employed, I gave myself that Friday off and instantly began to pack for our impromptu camping trip.

On the way to the campground, Bandit told me how he lost his left forearm; something I always thought was the result of a birth defect. He explained that twenty years earlier, he attempted to make a firework to celebrate July 4th. When putting the explosive together, he wore his mother’s gardening gloves which caused a devastating chemical reaction. Hearing the blast, his parents fled to their basement to find Bandit lying fifteen feet from his arm.

Leaving me speechless, Bandit continued to explain his enthusiasm for risky activities including mountain climbing, dirt biking and racing cars. As he was driving my vehicle well above the speed limit, I had no reason to doubt his love for racing.

Once I recovered from the shock of his revelation regarding his arm, I began to regret not purchasing temporary, short term car insurance (you can buy it from this UK website!) before we left. When Bandit refused to stop at a restroom, choosing to steer with his stub while directing his urine flow into a bottle I was holding, I really regretted not buying insurance to cover him as a driver of my vehicle. When he answered his phone while directing his urine flow into the bottle I was holding, I began to wonder how much my insurance rate was going to rise as a result of our adventure and if the inevitable increase would be temporary or permanent. When Bandit changed the radio station while talking on the phone while directing his urine flow into the bottle I was holding, I lost my patience, along with my attention to detail, spilling his discharge all over my front seat.

I ordered Bandit to pull over immediately, which he did, popping my left back tire in the process. Once parked, I jumped out of the car, gagging from the smell of urine. I dialed my insurance agent to negotiate short term coverage, pretending to be home. Fortunately, the squawking of the nearby birds enjoying road kill didn’t tip my agent off to my lie. After paying for the short term cover with my credit card, I paused to berate Bandit for his carelessness. Incredulously, he was more apologetic for relieving himself all over my seat than for his irresponsible driving habits – his flow hadn’t stopped when the car did.

While we waited for roadside assistance, I refused to talk to Bandit. Remaining silent in the short term is probably how we managed to stay together for the past ten years. That, forcing him to wear adult diapers and securing temporary insurance before embarking on road trips, that is.