I have a pretty strict rule about participation in certain activities: organized sports, trivia, boardgames…
Basically, if I’m not going to be good at something – and I know it – I’m out. Don’t give me that “you don’t know unless you try” business. I’ve known myself for a solid twenty-something years (plus a few months in the womb) and I have a pretty good understanding about my talents and limitations.
Monopoly? Give me that Battleship and just go ahead and let me buy Boardwalk.
The day we lost (and found) Molly, T and I bought a few board games. Read as: anything to stop the tears. Jenga? Sure! Monopoly? Absolutely!
Last night we geared up for game night and I was all like “I got this.” And, T was all understated, “I don’t really know the rules.”
I’ll never learn.
He’s all humble and nonchalantly buying property, the entire railroad system and I’m all “Indiana? No way. I’m not buying that. I’m a Gene Keady fan.”
I’m mean, too. “You owe me SIX DOLLARS!” Clearly, I bought the cheapest property because it was where I first landed.
He’s so nice. Seriously, all the time. I ran out of money and contemplated selling one of my lovely orange properties when he decides to float me a small business loan, sans interest. He still won. He could run for Mayor of Monopoly. He’s so nice that you sort of want to pay him $200 when you land on a railroad.
This isn’t Monopoly Jr. anymore.
And, I just can’t compete with his strategy.
Jenga. I’ll get him at Jenga.