I forgot that I suck at playing games with kids. I had buried this fact in the deep recesses of my brain, as my girls are now teenagers. These days they only interact to ask for money and food, or to inform me how little I know about pretty much everything. However this memory quickly resurfaced when I visited my best friend’s young granddaughters.
Once the initial excitement wore off about “Twacy’s” visit (or maybe it was the bribe of donuts?) I sat down to play Barbies with the three year old. After a few minutes of what I believed was witty banter, I was benched and my bestie was called in. “You hold the baby, Twace, ok?”
I lack the requisite imagination to interact in the Barbie doll world. I never know what the Barbie that works at the pizza place should say to the customer wearing no pants. Even when I think I’m following the dialogue that the child has written in her mind, I’m admonished for not following along correctly. Informing pants-less Ken that “we are just not that kind of pizza place” was too much of a deviation from the script. My humor is wasted among the 5-and-under crowd. The director thought I’d be a better fit with the three month old because when she goes off script they just give her a pacifier and she stops screwing up the dialogue.
I was never good at the whole “Barbie thing” - even as a child. I was highly entertained dressing them in some pink sequined atrocity, adding facial adornment, and chopping off their hair. Of course she looks better with an eye patch, Mom! It matches her mohawk. The Barbie brigade always ended up at a late night rave where they were stomped to death in a mosh pit by unicorns. For some reason my mom stopped buying me Barbies. Which is hard to imagine, amiright?
When the Barbies head off to take a nap in their private jet - it was on to Candyland. I am back in the game! But that glory didn’t last because apparently I am also bad at board games. The little in charge doesn't like the lame rules established by Parker Brothers, so she starts making up her own. I have no short term memory any longer and I can't recall the last minute audibles. I don’t understand what I should be doing and keep ending up in jail, or dead.
In the latest iteration of “Candy-yand” I am only allowed to land on the primary colors. However, tiny dictator gets to jump on the secondary colors until she lands on some magical square that turns her into a Pegasus and heads to victory. Mid-flight to the winners circle, she stops off at some secret Candyland rest stop that causes me to die in a torrent of lava. Or get squished to death by an anaconda. Or trampled by a herd of wayward turtles. No matter what version of the game we are playing, my demise is imminent and always macabre – even when we are playing Candyland Animal Peace Corps. “Oh no, Twacy! Landslide! Too bad I’m off being a veterinarian to the pygmy marmosets or I could have saved you!” I believe she must stay up nights and dream up elaborate and violent methods of obliteration.
As soon as I became a parent, certain topics became off limits with me. I could no longer watch shows about children being hurt in any way, or kids losing their parents. I don’t need to obsess any more than I already do about something tragic happening to my daughters. Clearly the littles are in tune with my parental kryptonite and torture is their love language, because we are moving on play “orphan”.
The girls are raising themselves because I perish after a tragic accident involving quicksand and glitter. They are spending their day drinking “tea” and coloring while the "serving person" (me) takes care of their every desire. I am catering to their bizarre gastronomy whims which includes bringing snacks of questionable food combinations - like hot dogs in celery “buns” for “yunch".
After a day of having my self-worth destroyed, I accidentally stumble upon the best game ever - spa day! The girls fix my hair with giant, sparkly Halloween barrettes and garish make-up adorns my face. It includes hand and leg massages, and “yemonade” with a special ingredient! What is that special ingredient? Visine? Draino? I gratefully discover it is Gatorade. I somehow even manage to survive this game.
I will put my self-esteem aside and play games again the next time I visit these littles. However, they have time to dream up my annihilation so I'm sure it will not end well for me. "Oops, you were so relaxed that you fell asleep in the hot tub and drowned! We wanted to save you but the ambulance was full of orphan baby wombats that needed us. Now please make us toast with frosting and sprinkles, Twace.”