“Who has the tiara?” Monica demanded from the adjacent dining room.

“Got it,” Gloria called from her spot in the den.

Gloria may favor serviceable polyester when it comes to clothing, but bling is her thing. She fairly sparkles in gold chains and bangle bracelets. The tiara literally was the icing atop her salt-and-pepper do.

The tiara had been Connie Sue’s idea-go figure-a relic from her days as beauty queen. Each time we meet, the night’s high roller is awarded the tiara. It’s that person’s to keep until the next time we play. Then, after scores are tallied, the reigning diva relinquishes the tiara to the new winner. It’s childish, I know, like little girls playing dress-up, but we love the silly ritual-especially Monica, even though she’d die rather than admit it. Monica’s determined to bring home the tiara at the end of each and every bunco night. But then Monica tends to be a bit on the competitive side.

Pam rang the bell and play commenced. I picked up the dice and, miracle of miracles, rolled a succession of ones. When my string of luck-my very short string-ran out, I passed the dice to Connie Sue on my left.

Now, rules of bunco vary somewhat from group to group. Your grandmother may have played the game one way, and your mother another. Allow me to explain the Bunco Babes’ way. We decided early on that we’d play six complete sets before calling it a night. In each round, players try to roll the same number as the round. For instance, in round one, players attempt to roll ones; in round two players attempt to roll twos, and so on and so forth. One point is awarded for each target number rolled successfully. Bunco occurs when a player rolls three of a kind of the target number, for which she scores the grand total of twenty-one points. A player continues to roll as long as she’s racking up points. The round ends when someone at the head table-which controls play-reaches a total of twenty-one, rings the bell, and hollers, “Bunco!”