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I sigh as I push my tiny pile of triangles over to her so she can add them to her ever-growing stack. “But aren’t we trying to get the crystals to win?”
“I’m excited to see how many crystals you can get with no cash,” she beams.
“This game is stupid.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re losing.”
“You could help me out?” I try and give her my very best sad eyes but for a change she is absolutely unmoved by my efforts.
“Roll again,” she commands.
The dice do me dirty and I end up in jail.
Anna manages to get another crystal. I imagine sitting in my tower, sadly watching her through the bars of my cell as she does better job of assassin-ing than I am.
To add to the humiliation, I only just get out of prison when she gets her last crystal and wins.
“Ha!” she says triumphantly. “The king’s mine, sucker!”
“You had an unfair advantage,” I pout. “Can we just watch TV now?”
“You enjoyed yourself really,” she says, and I pout harder because she’s right. That doesn’t mean I want her to be.
She scoops all the pieces back up and I fold my arms, refusing to help on principle. “Can we at least play something easier next?”
“Okay,” she concedes, folding up the board. “You pick something you want to play.”
I turn back to the boxes as she finishes packing up the pieces. None of the titles are that informative, so I pick up a game at random and read the back of the box.Suitable for all ages!it claims, which is a good start.
Skimming the directions, it seems like it really is simple and I can’t be bothered to look at any other games so I toss this one between us.
“Oh, Wordsmash! Ben used to be theworstat this.”
“Shit,” I say, because Ben is the smartest person I know. It runs in the Romero gene pool.
“Don’t worry! It’s easy.”
“You said that about the last one.” I give her another dubious look and she reaches out to take my hands.
“Trust me, okay? It’s charades, but with words. You have to describe the thing without saying the word.”
I give her a blank look. I kind of get what she’s saying but I don’t get how it makes sense, or how she thinks I’m going to know what any words mean, let alone give definitions.
“I’ll go first, okay?” She picks a card from the top of the deck and reads it before flipping over the sand timer. “Okay, so it’s a sport. They have a stick”
“Hockey?”
“No, it’s in the air, it’s got a net. It’s like—”
“Oh, uh, lacrosse?”
“Yeah!” She slams the card down in victory, starting a pile in front of her.
An hour later, we’re rolling around on the floor in laughter as our attempts to describe stuff at each other has started including friendly yelling and huge gestures like that helps anything.
Tears in her eyes and clutching her stomach, Anna jokingly berates me. “How the hell have you never heard of Mozart?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who gives a shit about classical music?”
