Walking through the casino towards the hotel lobby, we were overwhelmed by the extravagant ambiance. This was nothing like the Stratosphere, full of desperate, depressing drunks. The Bellagio was glowing; the walls, the floors, even the people seemed bright and bathed in light (helped in no small part by a glass ceiling). Even though we were inside, we felt outside. Before reaching the lobby we reached the indoor gardens, a fantastical, botanical playground with leaping jets of water, hand-painted hot air balloons and a Ferris wheel. It felt like Willy Wonka and Simon Doonan had skipped through a field of flowers together, then fallen asleep and dreamed up decorations for the Bellagio courtyard. Intoxicated with color and innovation, we finally reached the lobby and looked up. Here we stood beneath Chihuly's stars, candy-colored glass blooms frothing from the canopy like a symphony of bubbles all popping in unison.
We walked up to the expansive marble counter to check-in, feebly attempting to act as if our surroundings were completely normal and that we belonged here. The person serving us brought up our reservation on the computer and then had to call "headquarters" for our room assignment (which is apparently not the job of the front desk). Instead of the already ritzy room we had booked online, the assignment office had cleared an upgrade for us, and we were handed the key to a room normally reserved for $500 a night! Thrilled, we listen to him explain the hotel's amenities and warn us that the refreshment center was weight-sensitive and would automatically charge our account for any items moved or removed during our stay.
Thanking the attendant, we found the gorgeous set of hallways where the expanse of elevators were located. Instead of every elevator serving all floors, there were sets of elevators assigned to each grouping of 5 floors. Our room was located on the 19th floor, so we hopped in an elevator earmarked for the 16th-20th floors and tried to hit the button. As the doors closed, our button still refused to light up and Adam suggested that maybe we should try scanning our keycard. Having never experienced a system like that before, I was sure that couldn't be the case; the only visible slot didn't seem large enough. After a trip up and down holding our belongings and looking sufficiently inexperienced, someone finally mentioned to us that we did in fact have to scan our key for the button to "unlock", and only then would we be able to get where we needed to go.
After dismounting on the 19th floor and finding our room in a hallway dark and plush with the elegance of low lighting and intricate wallpaper, I slid the keycard into the lock and opened the door to the room. For a moment, we weren't sure this could be correct. Before us was a living room larger than the one in my house and drastically sharper in taste and style. As we put our things down and started exploring the small suite, we took inventory. Bathrooms? THREE. Three bathrooms. My 4-bedroom house has three bathrooms! All three bathrooms were fully equipped too, toilets and sinks. One had a hot tub/jacuzzi, one had a marble shower/sauna, and the third was the "guest bathroom" in the living room. The curtains in both main rooms were dual-layered with heavy sheets of sheer and opaque silks, both of which were remote controlled and hid full, wall-size windows. Our view, in true Ocean's Eleven style, overlooked the famous Bellagio fountains and Las Vegas Boulevard. All the woods were dark and the upholstery was leather; the room was a harmonious dissertation in mahogany and glass with exotic botanical conclusions. We were in heaven.
Like any mature pair of adults, we soon ferreted through every drawer and closet in the suite, marveling over the soft, heavy bathrobes and subtle fragrances of the signature bath luxuries stocked plentifully in each room. Not content to leave any utility untouched, we settled on an agreed sequence of events. Before long Adam was running the jets of the jacuzzi while I unpacked. As he next hopped in the shower, I settled into the jacuzzi to relax until he was done. Then it was my turn and I took my time washing my hair after a sweltering day at the Hoover Dam. For a while, we relaxed in the room until my hair dried and finally decided we should start getting dressed up for our evening of excitement. This time, we were sure, we would not regret putting on the Ritz. In a dapper Theory number that Barney would approve of, Adam suited up and I put on a French Connection dress that paid homage to the "Cirque" theme of the hotel.
With about an hour to kill before our dinner reservation at the Bellagio's most prestigious French restaurant, we explored the swanky promenade of shops set apart from the casino. In contrast to the rundown mall at the Stratosphere, here we strolled passed Chanel, Dior, Hermes and Tiffany's, able to ogle but not to touch. Our only purchases were the usual souvenir magnets and postcards; we wanted to buy more logo-laden merchandise but they simply did not stock or make it. As we lingered in Tiffany's, having fun pretending that we might actually buy a $1,600 ring with an overly enthusiastic saleswoman, Adam realized that it was 7:23PM and our dinner reservation was in 7 minutes. Apologizing to the woman, we quickly exited and found Le Cirque where we were seated promptly in the opulent jewelbox known as their main dining room.
Lavishly decorated, the ceiling of Le Cirque hung heavy with swaths of silk in deep tones of ruby, olive, butternut squash and eggplant. We sat down, and the maitre d' quickly hurried over to us. "I notice," he said, "that you are wearing dark colors tonight. Shall I bring napkins more suitable to your outfits?" We looked down to the white napkins in our laps, looked up at each other, and (secretly flabbergasted), calmly concurred that darker napkins would be more agreeable. He scurried off and we grinned, excited to see how else this evening would tutor us in the distinctions between dining, and fine dining. He returned with our new, beautiful charcoal gray napkins and asked us what kind of water we would like this evening. Knowing that we would be perfectly content with tap water, we listened to him list 4 bottled waters, none of which I like. I gently mentioned that we did not really prefer any of those waters and he looked heartstricken, quickly racking his brains for a solution. "Would you prefer Aqua Panna?" This was one of few bottled waters that I could tolerate, and I cheerily told him so. "Perfect!" he said. "We don't actually stock it in this restaurant, but I will have a boy run next door and have it for you momentarily madam, thank you." He then politely excused himself to allow us to attend to our menus.
Giddy with the celebrity treatment, we scanned the menus and decided we were both up for the three course prix-fixe before the water boy appeared at our table with a bottle of Evian and started pouring it into my glass. At the exact moment that I began to open my mouth in protest, the maitre d' caught sight of the situation and with a look of horror, pulled the water boy aside. Like a true professional, he quietly but sternly explained the boy's mistake and asked him to correct it immediately. No longer than 12 seconds later, the boy returned with the correct water and apologizing, poured glasses for us. I was beginning to understand why the people I assisted at work had such jaded expectations of how they should be treated; if this was the service that money could buy it was no wonder they were spoiled rotten.
After ordering our drinks (iced tea and fruit juice to the waiters disappointment), the maitre d' brought out a tiny amuse-bouche in small shot glasses. He explained that it was a chilled cucumber soup, and it tasted like someone has distilled the essences of summer into a mint green nectar from the gods. To say the least, it was delicious and subtle, a beautiful introduction to the meal ahead. Finally we ordered, getting to pick three dishes a piece. For an appetizer, I chose hamachi delicately seasoned with Japanese citrus oil, and it was a soft, glorious burst of flavor that actually served its purpose in making me hungrier for my meal. Adam chose truffle-marinated shrimp over mashed potatoes. We unfortunately dove into our appetizers so quickly there was no opportunity to capture them for posterity. Having calmed ourselves for our main meals, we were both patient enough to wait for pictures before tucking in. For my entree, I chose a triple presentation of rabbit in a porcini mushroom foam; it was beautifully cooked and tasted almost like turkey but 30 times moister and more tasty. Adam selected a snow crab ravioli served on top of lobster with a coconut curry sauce that he was first hesitant about trying, but ended up loving.
The maitre d' teased that I would get a prize for finishing the rabbit; the serving appeared deceptively small but was a fight to finish. Even after my stomach was more than full, I continued eating it until the very last bite on the merits of taste alone. As a result, I opted for a lighter dessert in the Midori Melon Soup, a bowl of liquid honeydew with sliced and balled watermelon topped in a cantaloupe sorbet. The textures, colors, and flavor of this dessert lifted the entire weight of the meal from my stomach and left me feeling like I had somehow ingested a cool breeze. Adam's dessert was heavier, a perfect chocolate sphere filled with chocolate mousse and topped with 24K gold. Unfortunately I did not get to capture it before the waiter poured molten chocolate on its surface, instantly melting the entire sphere into a pool of deep brown liquid.
After we were finally done and full, the maitre d' held true to his promise and brought out my prize, a miniature, gilded set of drawers imprinted with the restaurants name in metallic red letters. Inside were two carefully dusted truffles that looked sinfully delicious. Along with this he brought a small plate of petite-fours, which we sampled while filling out the check. Thanking our servers for an incredible meal, we finally exited in the contented daze of a thoughtful, top-class meal. Deciding that I could no longer walk in the shoes that I decided to wear because the thick patent leather was carving slices into my feet, we went upstairs to get rid of our bags and let me change shoes. In the process of doing so we lost awareness of the time, and as we got ready to exit the room realized that the fountain show we were hoping to catch had begun outside our window. Foolishly, I suggested that we run down and try to see it in person instead of watching it from our window, but of course when we reached the first floor we were too late.
This created a dilemma; the next fountain show was not until 10PM and would last about 10 minutes. We had tickets to see the 10:30PM performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O" and were told to be seated at least 20 minutes in advance of showtime. If we were to see the fountain show, we might be late for the performance, since the theater was located inside the hotel about halfway through the casino. As we debated, we realized that even if we were late for seating, as long as we were ahead of the 10:30 showtime they would have to seat us. On top of that, we were in Las Vegas without a clue as to when we would return, so might as well do everything we can! Outside in the warm night air, we settled into a cozy corner of the wall that surrounds the fountains and waited until the show began. To save ourselves from trying breathlessly to convey its grandeur unsuccessfully, and also just to preserve it precisely, we recorded the entire performance for everyone to see.
The Famous Fountains
As soon as the last of the mist hit us in the face, we bolted past the crowds just beginning to peel themselves off the fountain wall and dashed inside to find the theater. Walking swiftly past all of the luxury retailers, we were at the theater doors before long in plenty of good time to find our (third row!) seats. To keep the audience entertained until showtime, two stylized clowns amused the audience with the style of physical humor that is unique to the Cirque ideology. Before long it was showtime, and the massive red silk that covered the stage billowed down in cascading waves of crimson before flying off stage at the insistance of a singular strand of rope. Now, for anyone who has not yet had the mindblowing honor of seeing a Cirque show (and even for those who have), I have absolutely no idea how to even approach beginning to explain the visual indulgence of Cirque's aesthetic.
As Cirque shows go, each one focuses on a different set of acrobatic skills all set in the lavish framework of dramatic storytelling paired with operatic vocal accompaniment. This particular performance, "O", focused on water. As a result, the entire stage shifted in and out of various depths of a large pool in which all performers of different acrobatic proficiences somehow managed to dive and swim through with no apparent necessity for a single breath (which the audience dutifully provided them by holding theirs). The show was impossible to absorb; at any given moment there were three or more equally paralyzing feats of acrobatic finesse and costume art worthy of a museum. Characters flew through the air in diligent denial of any gravitational forces whatsoever, each as glittering and fluid as the body of water beneath them. To explain the show any further will serve no educational purpose; in simplest terms the show was beautiful, incredible, and highly recommended to anyone whose interest would be piqued by the idea of watching a magician playing a grand piano while sinking into a still pool.
Since we were lucky enough to have chosen seats close to stage but on the one side that did not get hit by water during the course of the show, we were up for walking around the still-alive casino. Passing through the shops again, we came upon the Jean-Phillippe Patisserie. Here I hungrily peered into the glass facade vowing to return in the morning when it was open; the shelves were stocked with rich chocolates and decadent desserts. No less appetizing was the massive chocolate fountain in which thick streams of sweet liquid poured from leaves of glass floating in a suspended waterfall above the entrance. On the wall adjacent was a plaque commorating its status as the world's largest chocolate fountain, Guiness certified!
With a renewed hunger, we continued on to the courtyard. Where the glass ceiling had made this a magical field of flowers in the daytime, the hundreds of strategically placed lights turned the courtyard into a lavish carnival at night. We enjoyed walking under archways made by crystalline jets of water, seeing the sleeping birds in the indoor aviary, and absorbing the delicate intricacies of the glass sculptures now made apparent by the burning bulbs beneath them.
Completing our rounds, we finally agreed that we only had one remaining mission in Vegas: to gamble. Neither of us had ever done so before, and what better location to lose our first dollar? Adam was generally unenthused by the idea of gambling himself, so we settled on an acceptable loss limit of $22 and I set off to find a machine I could operate. Since I was not playing for big money, I decided the penny slots would be my best bet. Little did I know that these machines would be metal representations of all that is wrong in advertising. Words and pictures literally plagued the machines, their intent and information was all but indecipherable. Content to put in bills and hit buttons until something beeped and the numbers changed, I finally understood the mechanics of these mystery boxes when I was about $5 in. Suffice it to say, they were addictive!
Operating in a complete absense of necessary skill on my part, each machine I tried excitedly spun its way through hundreds of mindless button presses. I was a giddy rat in a Skinner box, hoping for a treat. Eventually I did bring home some bacon, to the hefty tune of $20 and 20 cents. True to the spirit of Vegas however, I again lost it all. Adam eventually did give in and bet $5, which he quickly lost in a couple minutes worth of play (compared to my two hours). All in all, I thought losing $1.80 for 2 hours worth of entertainment was a couple bucks well spent, and was lightyears away from the damage typically done in the city of sin. Tired yet exhuberantly positive about our indulgent night in the Bellagio, we returned to our room to pass out in the plush king-size bed.
The next morning, we packed up and stayed true to our commitment to return to the Jean Phillippe Patisserie. While Adam foolishly ordered a healthy breakfast sandwich, I ordered a rich slice of Nutella Napoleon (which is as exactly confoundingly delicious as it sounds) and loaded up my arms with a bottle of liquid chocolate, truffles, and chocolate bars. Literally as elated as a child in a candy store, I tucked into my sinfully sweet breakfast as we departed the Bellagio parking lot and told ourselves that we would definitely return to a city whose only true sin is perpetuating the idea that everything that happens here, should stay here.
{pri}
Thanking the attendant, we found the gorgeous set of hallways where the expanse of elevators were located. Instead of every elevator serving all floors, there were sets of elevators assigned to each grouping of 5 floors. Our room was located on the 19th floor, so we hopped in an elevator earmarked for the 16th-20th floors and tried to hit the button. As the doors closed, our button still refused to light up and Adam suggested that maybe we should try scanning our keycard. Having never experienced a system like that before, I was sure that couldn't be the case; the only visible slot didn't seem large enough. After a trip up and down holding our belongings and looking sufficiently inexperienced, someone finally mentioned to us that we did in fact have to scan our key for the button to "unlock", and only then would we be able to get where we needed to go.
After dismounting on the 19th floor and finding our room in a hallway dark and plush with the elegance of low lighting and intricate wallpaper, I slid the keycard into the lock and opened the door to the room. For a moment, we weren't sure this could be correct. Before us was a living room larger than the one in my house and drastically sharper in taste and style. As we put our things down and started exploring the small suite, we took inventory. Bathrooms? THREE. Three bathrooms. My 4-bedroom house has three bathrooms! All three bathrooms were fully equipped too, toilets and sinks. One had a hot tub/jacuzzi, one had a marble shower/sauna, and the third was the "guest bathroom" in the living room. The curtains in both main rooms were dual-layered with heavy sheets of sheer and opaque silks, both of which were remote controlled and hid full, wall-size windows. Our view, in true Ocean's Eleven style, overlooked the famous Bellagio fountains and Las Vegas Boulevard. All the woods were dark and the upholstery was leather; the room was a harmonious dissertation in mahogany and glass with exotic botanical conclusions. We were in heaven.
Like any mature pair of adults, we soon ferreted through every drawer and closet in the suite, marveling over the soft, heavy bathrobes and subtle fragrances of the signature bath luxuries stocked plentifully in each room. Not content to leave any utility untouched, we settled on an agreed sequence of events. Before long Adam was running the jets of the jacuzzi while I unpacked. As he next hopped in the shower, I settled into the jacuzzi to relax until he was done. Then it was my turn and I took my time washing my hair after a sweltering day at the Hoover Dam. For a while, we relaxed in the room until my hair dried and finally decided we should start getting dressed up for our evening of excitement. This time, we were sure, we would not regret putting on the Ritz. In a dapper Theory number that Barney would approve of, Adam suited up and I put on a French Connection dress that paid homage to the "Cirque" theme of the hotel.
With about an hour to kill before our dinner reservation at the Bellagio's most prestigious French restaurant, we explored the swanky promenade of shops set apart from the casino. In contrast to the rundown mall at the Stratosphere, here we strolled passed Chanel, Dior, Hermes and Tiffany's, able to ogle but not to touch. Our only purchases were the usual souvenir magnets and postcards; we wanted to buy more logo-laden merchandise but they simply did not stock or make it. As we lingered in Tiffany's, having fun pretending that we might actually buy a $1,600 ring with an overly enthusiastic saleswoman, Adam realized that it was 7:23PM and our dinner reservation was in 7 minutes. Apologizing to the woman, we quickly exited and found Le Cirque where we were seated promptly in the opulent jewelbox known as their main dining room.
Lavishly decorated, the ceiling of Le Cirque hung heavy with swaths of silk in deep tones of ruby, olive, butternut squash and eggplant. We sat down, and the maitre d' quickly hurried over to us. "I notice," he said, "that you are wearing dark colors tonight. Shall I bring napkins more suitable to your outfits?" We looked down to the white napkins in our laps, looked up at each other, and (secretly flabbergasted), calmly concurred that darker napkins would be more agreeable. He scurried off and we grinned, excited to see how else this evening would tutor us in the distinctions between dining, and fine dining. He returned with our new, beautiful charcoal gray napkins and asked us what kind of water we would like this evening. Knowing that we would be perfectly content with tap water, we listened to him list 4 bottled waters, none of which I like. I gently mentioned that we did not really prefer any of those waters and he looked heartstricken, quickly racking his brains for a solution. "Would you prefer Aqua Panna?" This was one of few bottled waters that I could tolerate, and I cheerily told him so. "Perfect!" he said. "We don't actually stock it in this restaurant, but I will have a boy run next door and have it for you momentarily madam, thank you." He then politely excused himself to allow us to attend to our menus.
Giddy with the celebrity treatment, we scanned the menus and decided we were both up for the three course prix-fixe before the water boy appeared at our table with a bottle of Evian and started pouring it into my glass. At the exact moment that I began to open my mouth in protest, the maitre d' caught sight of the situation and with a look of horror, pulled the water boy aside. Like a true professional, he quietly but sternly explained the boy's mistake and asked him to correct it immediately. No longer than 12 seconds later, the boy returned with the correct water and apologizing, poured glasses for us. I was beginning to understand why the people I assisted at work had such jaded expectations of how they should be treated; if this was the service that money could buy it was no wonder they were spoiled rotten.
After ordering our drinks (iced tea and fruit juice to the waiters disappointment), the maitre d' brought out a tiny amuse-bouche in small shot glasses. He explained that it was a chilled cucumber soup, and it tasted like someone has distilled the essences of summer into a mint green nectar from the gods. To say the least, it was delicious and subtle, a beautiful introduction to the meal ahead. Finally we ordered, getting to pick three dishes a piece. For an appetizer, I chose hamachi delicately seasoned with Japanese citrus oil, and it was a soft, glorious burst of flavor that actually served its purpose in making me hungrier for my meal. Adam chose truffle-marinated shrimp over mashed potatoes. We unfortunately dove into our appetizers so quickly there was no opportunity to capture them for posterity. Having calmed ourselves for our main meals, we were both patient enough to wait for pictures before tucking in. For my entree, I chose a triple presentation of rabbit in a porcini mushroom foam; it was beautifully cooked and tasted almost like turkey but 30 times moister and more tasty. Adam selected a snow crab ravioli served on top of lobster with a coconut curry sauce that he was first hesitant about trying, but ended up loving.
The maitre d' teased that I would get a prize for finishing the rabbit; the serving appeared deceptively small but was a fight to finish. Even after my stomach was more than full, I continued eating it until the very last bite on the merits of taste alone. As a result, I opted for a lighter dessert in the Midori Melon Soup, a bowl of liquid honeydew with sliced and balled watermelon topped in a cantaloupe sorbet. The textures, colors, and flavor of this dessert lifted the entire weight of the meal from my stomach and left me feeling like I had somehow ingested a cool breeze. Adam's dessert was heavier, a perfect chocolate sphere filled with chocolate mousse and topped with 24K gold. Unfortunately I did not get to capture it before the waiter poured molten chocolate on its surface, instantly melting the entire sphere into a pool of deep brown liquid.
After we were finally done and full, the maitre d' held true to his promise and brought out my prize, a miniature, gilded set of drawers imprinted with the restaurants name in metallic red letters. Inside were two carefully dusted truffles that looked sinfully delicious. Along with this he brought a small plate of petite-fours, which we sampled while filling out the check. Thanking our servers for an incredible meal, we finally exited in the contented daze of a thoughtful, top-class meal. Deciding that I could no longer walk in the shoes that I decided to wear because the thick patent leather was carving slices into my feet, we went upstairs to get rid of our bags and let me change shoes. In the process of doing so we lost awareness of the time, and as we got ready to exit the room realized that the fountain show we were hoping to catch had begun outside our window. Foolishly, I suggested that we run down and try to see it in person instead of watching it from our window, but of course when we reached the first floor we were too late.
This created a dilemma; the next fountain show was not until 10PM and would last about 10 minutes. We had tickets to see the 10:30PM performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O" and were told to be seated at least 20 minutes in advance of showtime. If we were to see the fountain show, we might be late for the performance, since the theater was located inside the hotel about halfway through the casino. As we debated, we realized that even if we were late for seating, as long as we were ahead of the 10:30 showtime they would have to seat us. On top of that, we were in Las Vegas without a clue as to when we would return, so might as well do everything we can! Outside in the warm night air, we settled into a cozy corner of the wall that surrounds the fountains and waited until the show began. To save ourselves from trying breathlessly to convey its grandeur unsuccessfully, and also just to preserve it precisely, we recorded the entire performance for everyone to see.
The Famous Fountains
As soon as the last of the mist hit us in the face, we bolted past the crowds just beginning to peel themselves off the fountain wall and dashed inside to find the theater. Walking swiftly past all of the luxury retailers, we were at the theater doors before long in plenty of good time to find our (third row!) seats. To keep the audience entertained until showtime, two stylized clowns amused the audience with the style of physical humor that is unique to the Cirque ideology. Before long it was showtime, and the massive red silk that covered the stage billowed down in cascading waves of crimson before flying off stage at the insistance of a singular strand of rope. Now, for anyone who has not yet had the mindblowing honor of seeing a Cirque show (and even for those who have), I have absolutely no idea how to even approach beginning to explain the visual indulgence of Cirque's aesthetic.
As Cirque shows go, each one focuses on a different set of acrobatic skills all set in the lavish framework of dramatic storytelling paired with operatic vocal accompaniment. This particular performance, "O", focused on water. As a result, the entire stage shifted in and out of various depths of a large pool in which all performers of different acrobatic proficiences somehow managed to dive and swim through with no apparent necessity for a single breath (which the audience dutifully provided them by holding theirs). The show was impossible to absorb; at any given moment there were three or more equally paralyzing feats of acrobatic finesse and costume art worthy of a museum. Characters flew through the air in diligent denial of any gravitational forces whatsoever, each as glittering and fluid as the body of water beneath them. To explain the show any further will serve no educational purpose; in simplest terms the show was beautiful, incredible, and highly recommended to anyone whose interest would be piqued by the idea of watching a magician playing a grand piano while sinking into a still pool.
Since we were lucky enough to have chosen seats close to stage but on the one side that did not get hit by water during the course of the show, we were up for walking around the still-alive casino. Passing through the shops again, we came upon the Jean-Phillippe Patisserie. Here I hungrily peered into the glass facade vowing to return in the morning when it was open; the shelves were stocked with rich chocolates and decadent desserts. No less appetizing was the massive chocolate fountain in which thick streams of sweet liquid poured from leaves of glass floating in a suspended waterfall above the entrance. On the wall adjacent was a plaque commorating its status as the world's largest chocolate fountain, Guiness certified!
With a renewed hunger, we continued on to the courtyard. Where the glass ceiling had made this a magical field of flowers in the daytime, the hundreds of strategically placed lights turned the courtyard into a lavish carnival at night. We enjoyed walking under archways made by crystalline jets of water, seeing the sleeping birds in the indoor aviary, and absorbing the delicate intricacies of the glass sculptures now made apparent by the burning bulbs beneath them.
Completing our rounds, we finally agreed that we only had one remaining mission in Vegas: to gamble. Neither of us had ever done so before, and what better location to lose our first dollar? Adam was generally unenthused by the idea of gambling himself, so we settled on an acceptable loss limit of $22 and I set off to find a machine I could operate. Since I was not playing for big money, I decided the penny slots would be my best bet. Little did I know that these machines would be metal representations of all that is wrong in advertising. Words and pictures literally plagued the machines, their intent and information was all but indecipherable. Content to put in bills and hit buttons until something beeped and the numbers changed, I finally understood the mechanics of these mystery boxes when I was about $5 in. Suffice it to say, they were addictive!
Operating in a complete absense of necessary skill on my part, each machine I tried excitedly spun its way through hundreds of mindless button presses. I was a giddy rat in a Skinner box, hoping for a treat. Eventually I did bring home some bacon, to the hefty tune of $20 and 20 cents. True to the spirit of Vegas however, I again lost it all. Adam eventually did give in and bet $5, which he quickly lost in a couple minutes worth of play (compared to my two hours). All in all, I thought losing $1.80 for 2 hours worth of entertainment was a couple bucks well spent, and was lightyears away from the damage typically done in the city of sin. Tired yet exhuberantly positive about our indulgent night in the Bellagio, we returned to our room to pass out in the plush king-size bed.
The next morning, we packed up and stayed true to our commitment to return to the Jean Phillippe Patisserie. While Adam foolishly ordered a healthy breakfast sandwich, I ordered a rich slice of Nutella Napoleon (which is as exactly confoundingly delicious as it sounds) and loaded up my arms with a bottle of liquid chocolate, truffles, and chocolate bars. Literally as elated as a child in a candy store, I tucked into my sinfully sweet breakfast as we departed the Bellagio parking lot and told ourselves that we would definitely return to a city whose only true sin is perpetuating the idea that everything that happens here, should stay here.
{pri}
