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“Look, Isla, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I promise I’m no competition for you. You’re gorgeous.” She’s not really, but I don’t want to be front and center in some hair-pulling girl-fight. I’m pretty tough, but it looks like she’d take me for sure.
Isla weighs my words carefully before saying, “Thank you, but you still look ridiculous.” While not exactly flattering, no blood gets shed, so I let it go.
After several more people approach me and compliment my humor, nerve, and sense of the absurd, Trina calls out, “Who’s ready to play some games?”
The masses start a slow crawl in her direction. Everyone but Chip. He walks over to me and with seeming admiration says, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I really am,” I tell him while trying to see what Brittany sees in him. I come up dry. Chip is just too much like my old piano teacher in looks and attitude for me to see any good qualities.
“We’re going to form two teams,” Trina announces, “the women against the men!” She indicates where we should stand, and once we’re situated, she points across the room at two chairs sitting side-by-side. Each one has a large garbage bag next to it.
She continues, “You might remember this game from childhood. The person who goes first will run over and open the bag. Then they’ll pull out a balloon and put it on the chair and sit on ituntil it pops. That’s when they run back and tag the next person in line. The winning team will be the one who pops all their balloons first. Are you ready?”
A woman named Adele holds up her hand. “I’ve never seenMidwestern Matchmakerhave games like this before.”
“We’re shaking things up a little this season, Adele. We thought it would be fun to take you all back to a time when life was less complicated.”
Adele looks highly uncertain. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s either a librarian or forensic accountant in her real life. It’s probably been a very long time since she’s played childish games like pop-the-balloon-with-your-butt. Since any of us has, really.
“What do we get if we win?” someone else wants to know.
“At the end of the season, the team with the most wins will each receive a five-thousand-dollar Visa gift card!”Hello balloons, meet my fanny.I could do a lot with a boost like that.
Brittany is the first one in line for the women’s team—I’m the last. Brittany is running against Fielden who looks very ill at ease. As soon as Trina calls ready … set … go! they take off.
Once they get to the garbage bags, they both struggle trying to open their knots. Brittany finally gives up and rips the bag open with her teeth while the women cheer her on. Pulling out the first balloon, she puts it on the chair and sits on it. But instead of popping it, she bounces around on it and keeps getting thrown off the chair.
She’s still struggling after Fielden has popped his balloon, so Cami calls out, “Use your earring.”
Brittany immediately pulls off her hoop and jabs the sharp end into the balloon. As she runs back to us, some guy shouts, “That’s cheating!”
Trina tells him, “All’s fair in love and war, Carl.”
The game continues among the screams of encouragement. When it’s nearly my turn, I look at my opponent from the men’s team—Tim—and declare, “You’re going down, buddy!”
He yells back, “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I’m outrun by Pooh Bear!”
Tim’s teammate is faster than mine, so he gets a head start. When I finally get to go, I take three long strides, then slide on my furry bear paws all the way to the chair. Grabbing the last balloon, I put it down before practically jumping on it. I land harder than expected which causes the chair to break on impact. I’m left sitting on the floor with its ragged remains.Well now, that’s embarrassing.
Tim hurries over in shock. “Are you okay?”
“I must have had too much honey,” I joke lamely while standing up and brushing off the sting from my landing.
Trina asks, “Do you need help?”
“No.”
“Then the game is still on! Keep going!”
Grabbing my balloon, I put it on the floor before bursting it with the same intensity I used to demolish my chair. I’m on my way back to my team before Tim succeeds in his balloon-popping mission. We women celebrate by jumping up and down and shouting insults at the men. It’s like we’re seven all over again, and we’re having the time of our lives.
Once our celebration dies down, Trina announces that the buffet is open. “Our very own Paige made the casserole and cookies. Jake here,” she points to my co-chef, “was responsible for the lettuce wraps and the bread. So, eat up, and when you’re done, we have another old favorite party game for you!”
As everyone makes their way to supper, I wonder what the other game is. I don’t know why, but I suddenly envision a slew of teenage rom-coms where girls and boys are sitting in a circle in someone’s basement.
Holy heck, are we going to play spin the bottle?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
