Today I am grateful for the game Dungeons and Dragons. And for the love of God will someone please start a club that meets regularly and wants my husband to play this game? It drives me more over the edge than Klingon Monopoly ever could! Please!
Our brains work in completely different ways. Himself loves to play games where you have to think and strategize. I like playing games where you talk stupid and laugh until you pee your pants. I don’t want to think. Ever. Or count who has what left and who did what to whomever last round. I don’t care. Laughter and pee are all I care about.
Himself likes games with four billion little pieces like castles and doubloons and rocks and knives and wenches and warlocks and orks and gorks and dragons and various sundry half-inch punched-out pieces of cardboard that get all over the place until the vacuum sucks them up for lunch. Aka/Dungeons and Dragons. I would sooner stick a fork in my eye. Or his.
I want to love these “thinking” games, but I just don’t. They go against everything I think of as fun. The other day he wanted to invite people over to play 22-B Baker Street, which is a murder mystery solving game. The last time I played something like this there wasn’t enough wine in the universe. Or vodka. Or chips. Or donuts. How many Weight Watchers points in a game piece?
So please, please, please, I’m begging you. Someone let me know of a senior center or library or someplace that will play with Himself before he drives me nuts! You don’t even need to own the games or pieces or characters. We have a basement with so many of these beasts that I’m going to start charging them rent.
I’m warning you, if he isn’t able to find local people who like this, too, he’s going to resort to begging me. And I might lose my mind and one day agree. And that will not be pretty. . .until I throw the game. What?! Oh, stop! Dragons fly!