Don't Play Games With Me

Don’t play games with me.

Literally. 

While I also don’t play relationship games, board games make me want to scream and tear my hair out.  I hate them.  Really, really hate them. 

I like puzzles and games I can play by myself, against myself, trying to outdo myself.  As a matter of fact, I can find myself playing Solitaire for hours, just trying to beat my own score.  I can tolerate trivia games because I just like to see if I can get the answer right.  But your ordinary, run-of-the-mill board game, I will find any excuse not to play them.

I am an introvert, and always have been.  I enjoy my own company.  When I was a child, I would have much rather been sitting up in the tree in the front yard reading a book than anything else.  Unfortunately, my parents felt that they must socialize me and would force me to play board games with the family.  The sight of a Candy Land box still gives me nightmares.

And so of course I gave birth to the most competitive child on the face of the earth.  He can make a game out of anything, but he holds a very special place in his heart for those evil board games.  I bought him a pinball-type baseball game for Christmas figuring he could play it by himself, but no, he has “scheduled” an entire season of games, brackets and all, with my husband and me being the other teams.  I did not sign up for this league, which I am pretty sure is called the “League From Hell,” because you are not allowed to forfeit and rescheduling for any time other than “Ok, mom, I want to play right now” is almost impossible.

Somehow I managed to convince Aiden to delay my scheduled Sunday game against him because I wanted to watch the Grammy Awards, and then I managed to delay it a couple of more days because I was sick.  Tonight, however, as I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard “Ok, mom, it’s time!”  The fact that I needed to finish cleaning, pack lunches, and do laundry made no difference, though I did manage to finagle a 3-inning game rather than the usual 6 by refusing to cut and peel his mango otherwise.

So, thinking I was being smart, I asked to bat first.  I figured that would at least get me down another half inning because he would be beating me and there would be no need to bat.  God, probably convinced by my mother, had obviously decided I needed to play games with my child though because I managed , as hard as I tried to just strike out every at-bat, to score a run in that third inning and tie the game, so on it went.  I’m beginning to think that schedule will make good kindle for the fireplace.

And that’s why they have wine.  Time to finish the laundry and have a glass.