People might not know this about me (because I don't want to brag), but I come from a lineage of great bingo players, including one of the all time greats.

My grandma, Anna, was kind of a big deal at her senior center bingo games in Lakeville before she moved to the big leagues: Trinity Terrace in Farmington. Trinity, or "The T" as it's known among bingo fans, is basically the Yankee Stadium of bingo halls.

Anna would win stuffed animal after stuffed animal, yelling "BINGO" so often her throat would become hoarse. She was born with the gift and she took full advantage of it, eventually becoming the all-time winningest bingo player at The T.

She was hated by some of her fellow residents, loved by others, and admired by all.

This week we are playing bingo at work in place of a Christmas party. I feel bad because I know I am going to win- it's genetically predisposed.

I didn't ask for this gift. At times, it feels more like a burden. But here we are.

Sometimes I will play some bingo at local county fairs, church socials or even Joetown Rocks. It takes a bit to get to my seat after all the pictures and autographs, but by the time that first number is called I am locked in and ready to win some quarters.

I don't even know what the prizes are. Maybe I could win one of those expired Cokes in the break room! I've had my eye on those since like 2015, but I haven't had the courage to ask my boss for them. I will have to win them fair and square the way God intended- on the bingo board.

Maybe the prize is something less exciting, like an all-expenses paid trip to Walt Disney World in Florida complete with a Mickey Mouse meet-and-great! Actually, since this is my fantasy, I want to upgrade my Florida trip to the "Mickey babysits your kid for the weekend" package. Dream big.

B10? Got it. I 29? Mine. G56? BINGO. BINGO BABY.

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