"I'm going to host a Game Night," my friend Sunrise announced. "Knock your socks off," I said encouragingly. She scurried off and was soon back with my invitation. Have I mentioned that we are WELL over forty? While I did appreciate the clipart, I resented the level of commitment that this little slip of paper represented. "Can you come," she asked. "I might be able to..." I hedged (as though TONS of better offers might come flooding in). Days later, Sunrise was back with a clipboard and a checklist. "Will I be seeing you tomorrow," she questioned, pen poised to scratch off the appropriate YES or NO box. "And what tasty snack will you be bringing?" Wow. This was intense.
A day later, my friend Geri and I arrived, more or less on time. "Welcome to Game Night," Sunrise shouted from her porch, "Did you bring any board games?" Oh no.
As no one else also knew that it was a BYOBG night, Sunrise had to pull out ancient games that no one had ever heard of. One was a version of "Would you rather..." that REALLY shed an illuminating light on our friends. "Would you rather give up...for the rest of your life...alcohol or dairy?" I shuddered at the very thought of a world without cheese. But two of our members staunchly refused to give up the bottle. Game Night quickly shifted to Intervention Night. "But dairy doesn't agree with me," protested our friend Katrina, who then went on to over-share. "To test the effect dairy had on my body, I abstained for over a month and then tried slowly to re-introduce it." I will spare you further details of Katrina's re-introduction to dairy as I respect you too much and fear that you might be eating as you read my blog.
Although we try to use Game Night as a break from work; inevitably, it always manages to slip in. Katrina, a seasoned educator, has seen it all and heard it all. Or has she? Recently, one of her sweet students was eager to share his new language acquisition skills. Apparently, this talented little sprite was learning Chinese. "Sum tings tong!" he told Katrina enthusiastically. She gasped, shocked by his utter brilliance. "Is it Mandarin," she inquired, listening as he repeated, "Sum tings tong!" She clapped with delight as he taught her his new phrase. Eventually though, Katrina caught on that perhaps his language mastery wasn't quite as advanced as it appeared. "Something's wrong," she thought to herself. Perhaps our little linguist had been getting his language lessons from Bonanza's Hop Sing
My friend Geri is always fun to be with at a party. When I'm surrounded by intelligent and talented women with rich backgrounds of travel and experience, I am sometimes shyly hesitant to add my unremarkable little conversational nuggets to the scintillating conversations. But Geri is always there to support me. "Oh, are you being serious," she asked me the one time I dared open my mouth, "I thought you were just being stupid."
At one point, Geri reached over to emphasize a point to Katrina who immediately stiffened. "Allow me to digress," she said.
See what I mean? How am I suppose to appear even half-way intelligent around people who say things like "Allow me to digress?"
Katrina took a deep breath before eyeing the table. "You can grab my a$$. You can grab my breast. But DO NOT...DO NOT...DO NOT grab the fleshy underpart of my upper arm!" she announced resolutely. Thus began the nightmare stories of when some of the members of Game Night first became aware of the roly-poly pendulums of paunchy skin that had replaced their once sleek, toned upper arms. "I won't wave good-bye to the children in the bus loop at the end of the year," one attender announced, sniffling at the thought of not being able to join in on one of our school's most beloved end-of-year traditions. Speculations swirled about the origination of the Princess Wave. "It really reduces tremors," one member of Game Night shared helpfully.
"Oh my! Look at the time," our friend Diana yelped. We swung around to look at the clock. 9 pm! That magical moment when your rear-end grows to the size of a pumpkin and the glass slipper won't fit because of your corns, over-grown bunions, and fallen arches. Bippity-boppity boo-hoo! These Dairy Princesses had to hightail it home! Game Night had reached its inevitable end.
"Did we even end up actually playing a game," I asked Geri on our way out. Sunrise stood, illuminated on her porch, offering us a graceful Princess Wave. "Are you being serious," Geri snapped, as we made our way across the darkened lawn to the truck, "or are you just being stupid?" I watched as she hoisted herself up into my big Titan. "What did you say?" she asked me as I climbed in. "Nothing," I shrugged. "Huh..." Geri mused, wrestling her seat-belt on, "I could have sworn you said something about a fairy godmother trucker. But that doesn't make sense." I smiled in the dark. It sort of made sense.
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