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I have a play date this Saturday. Not for my kids (probably because we don’t
have any), but for me. My wife arranged it. Except she doesn’t call it a
“play date.” She calls it Game Night.
She swears it’s something couples have always done, but she’s also the
person who swears that men who hold purses outside department store dressing rooms are the sexiest things alive, so she has no problem with lying. I did some research though, and it turns out she’s right: Game Night actually dates back to the ancient Aztecs–right around the time Cortez dropped by and introduced them to the many joys of syphilis. The dying people—who knew they had precious few days left–banded together to play Trivial Pursuit and Monopoly in an effort to make time literally stand still. It worked so well that the tradition continues today. Unfortunately, so does the syphilis. (Personally, I blame Milton Bradley.)
As a Jersey guy, I’m supposed to love Monopoly because it’s based on
Atlantic City. According to legend, the little guy with the mustache once
visited the shore town and was promptly run over in its streets by a dog
driving a thimble. He almost died, but a six-foot iron in a wheelbarrow came
by and called for help. The paramedics responded quickly—in battleships, as
they still do today—and saved his life. As a show of gratitude, the little
guy named the streets in the game after those in AC.
However I don’t love Monopoly, mainly because when I play it I want to take
a turkey baster and jam it into my eye.
I hear they’re coming out with an updated version, one that more accurately reflects today’s property laws. In it, the player with the most money can demolish houses on another player’s property to make room for a strip mall—consisting of at least five Starbucks and a Walmart—citing “the best interests of the community.” It’s called “Monopoly: Screw The Little People” and is expected to be a big hit with lobbyists and Supreme Court Justices.
Another American classic is Trivial Pursuit, a game that can literally last
an entire football season thanks to its built-in design that ensures the
only questions you don’t know are the ones you have to answer.
To wit, here’s a typical round of Trivial Pursuit between my wife and I:
My question: “In 1492, Columbus sailed from Spain to The New Land. Therefore, the half-life of cadmium is what?”
My answer: “I like cheese.”
Her question: “What color is blue?”
And I rest my case.
Which brings us to Pictionary.
The problem I have with Pictionary dates back several years to when my wife and I were still dating. We were playing the game with my parents, my
brother, and his girlfriend. It was my turn to draw and all I had to do was
get her to guess “dog.” So naturally, I drew something that resembled a
cross between a Komodo Dragon and lasagna.
My wife slapped me in the head.
My next move was to do the tapping thing with the pencil that everybody does at some point in Pictionary. You know the move: you’ve just spent thirty
seconds drawing a detailed schematic of New York City’s sewer system even
though the word on the card is “apple.” Instead of scrapping the paper and
trying again, you tap your pencil at the mess of lines in the hope that
doing so will magically transform it into something that won’t convince
psychiatrists that you need heavy doses of powerful drugs. The end result of
this, invariably, is that your partner stares at you like something that
just came out of her nose.
When that didn’t work, I drew a doghouse. To my astonishment, she actually said the word, “Doghouse.” I smiled, clapped my hands like a seal at feeding time, and pointed back to the mutant creature I’d drawn before, hoping she would put two and two together and come up with “dog.”
Indeed, a look of understanding came into her eyes. Suddenly excited, she
said, “Ooh! Ooh! I know! Giraffe!”
Giraffe. I draw a doghouse. She says, “Giraffe.” I think I took it pretty well. In a few days, I was even able to eat solid foods again. I should have banned all games from my house right then and there, but I didn’t. Hey, what do you expect? Remember, I’m the guy who thinks holding a purse looks hot.
