"You'll never be a lady," he said, "Not like your mother."

He didn't say it to be mean or spiteful. He was smiling slightly when he said it, and his voice had that same matter-of-fact tone that one uses to give directions to strangers. He was just stating a fact as he saw it.

I remember muttering something like "Gee, thanks, Dad!", then retreating to my room (the teenage girl's sanctuary) to do what I usually did - repress and read.

At first, whenever I thought of it, I'd think "I could too be a lady! I have manners, and I'm quiet!". (Sidenote: from age 13 to 17 I was very shy and reserved. I know, hard to believe, but true.) But in later years, I grew farther away from shy and quiet, and now I realize that Dad was right: I'll never be a lady like my mother. I'll never be sweet and gracious even in the face of utter rudeness, I'll never be calm and smiling when at the brink of disaster. I'm more like my Dad in that I'll never suffer fools gladly, I'll never be subtle or discreet.

And the older I get, the more ok with that I am.

Last weekend I went to visit my favourite aunt, my dad's older sister. When I realized that there was just no way on god's green earth I could emulate my mother, this aunt became my role model when I was in my twenties (although she doesn't know it). Strong, independent in both thought and action, and no-nonsense to the core, Eleanor kicked ass.

And still does actually. At 93, she is still feisty and forthright. After she finished giving me shit for not getting off my ass to come see her, she demanded to know what was going on in with me. I told her about teaching ("HAHA! You teaching teenage girls with attitude - if that's not payback I don't know what is!"), and my three obsessions: knitting, poker and motorcycling.

"Oh, knitting's for old ladies. But I think I'd have liked to get a motorcycle. I could see me on one, harassing all the men."

She paused for a second.

"I used to play poker too. I seem to recall taking your fathers money on a few occasions." She laughs and shrugs, and the conversation drifts to other things.

The point is this: I come by it naturally. I can't help it.

****

I had Thursday off, so I took myself to Fallsview Casino for some pokery goodness. They were about half full, and I didn't have long to wait for a $1/$2 NLHE table. There were only 2 big stacks, and one was in the process of packing up his chips. The other big stack was the most annoying man it has been my extreme misfortune to meet.

He was a cheerful guy, with a line of patter and a slew of stories. We've all seen the type; designer glasses, expensive casual duds, trendy blonde spikey hair, voice one lisp away from being totally effeminate. I honestly don't think he could be quiet for any longer than it would take him to draw a breath. And loud - oh my frigging god. I sat beside speakers in a punk show that made my ears buzz less.

At first I thought, nice - a fun table. It took precisely 17 minutes for me to slip from "hey some entertainment with my pokery goodness, nifty" to "I wonder how many $5 chips I need to stuff in his gob before he's stifled?".

From minutes 17 to 32 I tried to approach it as an exercise - how to tune out annoying chatter and play your game.

At minute 33 I had a "fuck this, life is too short" epiphany and went to the desk to get a table change.

By minute 37, I was grabbing my chips and my Virgin Ceasar, vacating the premises. Mr. Jackass looks up at me and asks, "You're leaving us? Why are you leaving?"

For a brief moment, my mother's ghost whispered in my ear, don't make a scene, just make an excuse and slip away. But my inner Eleanor stopped, looked him straight in the eye and said in my best loud and firm teacher voice, "I am leaving because of you. You talk too much, you're too loud, and frankly you're not nearly as fabulous as you would have us think. I deal with loud, annoying girls all week - I don't need to deal with another one on my day off. So seeya."

Overall it was a losing session, but I still left feeling pretty good.

I think I'll bring some cards and chips next time I visit Aunt Eleanor. She'll probably teach me a thing or two.

****

Much fun was had last night at the Friday Night Blogger Boobtastic Donkament. there was the usual drunken donkery; my one clear memory is both Ingoal and I going all in with hammers only to be called by people with, wait for it......real hands! No hammer respect at all. I believe Ingoal has a screen shot on his blog. Oh dear...judging by the screen shots I was the recipient of a lot of his chips. However I was not able to hold on to them, and busted just after the break. Quel surprise.

And many thanks to all my IFF's for your comments and calls. I appreciate all the support for the girls. Truly *grin.