DOG LIBRARY

Scottish Terrier Art

Sculptor John Abduljaami with carved Scottish Terrier.

The Yahtzee Nazi

The man of the manor and I have been invited to a "Games Night" with friends this coming Saturday night. This is a regular event usually hosted by various friends at their various places of residence on a monthly basis.

We have not been to a 'Games Night' for a little while – one of the reasons is perhaps that, at the last jolly get-together, one of my dearest friends and I almost got into a pummel over "Prince Charles".

I know that probably begs the question "Why would two sassy, intelligent women get into a sushi-throwing stoush over a man who talk to plants, has ears like satellite dishes and wants to be reincarnated as a Tampax tampon?"

 

Well, the answer is:  Pictionary.

 

You see, when the egg-timer was flipped over the onus was on me to sketch the delightful HRH in order to beat the other sad sacks who were still trying to convey by pencil such easy tasks as "Ventilate" and "Myxomatosis" (Very easy to draw dead bunnies).

As far as I was concerned, this depiction was the nail in the proverbial, non-verbal coffin:

However, my friend sought to disagree. Her interpretation of my brush-strokes was more along the lines of:

Reasoned debate and discussion over my Pictionary prowess soon deteriorated into an international incident, with French Onion dip in the hair, and horrendous, cruel name-calling abound (The "lipstick liberal" still smarts…)

In retrospect, I can understand why she is the celebrated Art critic and why I was evicted (and told never to return upon fear of death) from Grade 8 Art class.

 

The bottom line is: I am a very bad loser.

 

I have been called everything from the "Yahtzee Nazi" to the "Go Fish Bitch".  I play to win, and dammit, I don't care if you are a cute little Scottish terrier, if you land on my "Mayfair" square with a hotel, I'll take your hard earned pink and purple money and toss you to the curb.

 

God forbid, that you are my 500 partner and call "six spades" without the Ace, King, Queen, Jack, ten-two AND Joker (I'll see you outside buddy, and know that I have the guacamole dip, and am not afraid to use it)

I guess I could put this demented, competitive streak in me down to genetics. My father, not so long ago, was playing Trivial Pursuit with his group of regular gaming people at his own house. When the answer to the question " What colour is Yaks milk?" turned out to be "Pink" and not "Cerise", my Dad leapt to his feet, emitted an indignant and blood-curdling yowl and proceeded to hurl the game off the verandah.

Of course, it took a moment for him to realize that it was not actually 'his' multi-coloured pie pieces that were now scattered from Labrador all the way down to Main Beach, rather the brand-new edition brought along by one of mother's friends.

 

So there, the secret is out. I am a terribly competitive kind of gal!

The problem with this "win at all costs" attitude is that I have, I admit, an appalling lack of talent for a lot of the tasks at hand.

 

Every time we play "Cranium", my play-dough offerings inevitably end up resembling something creepy and embarrassingly phallic, and for all of my pre-game preening and strutting, my tennis ball will, nine times out of ten, end up in the mouth of the man-eating Doberman over the fence.

This sad fact could not have been more perfectly illustrated, than when my hubby and I decided to go Ten Pin Bowling last Saturday.

I love Bowling. You get to throw a heavy ball at ten wobbly pins (and imagine them as dopey clients you had to deal with during the week), and you get to drink beer!!! As it happens, how well I bowl, is in direction proportion to how many stubbies I guzzle.

That's how it usually happens anyway…..

On this particular day, we got our shoes, our refreshments and enthusiastically headed over to smack some pins down. It suddenly dawned on me that those around me were rather short.

Short, loud, and covered in chocolate cake.

 

We had arrived in the midst of little Johnnies 8th birthday party. There were at least 50 kids between the ages of two and ten running around high on sugar-fuelled adrenalin.

This didn't deter us too much. We kicked off, and I smiled sweetly (if not, a little condescendingly) at a mother next to us who was encouraging her 7 year old little princess in pink to roll the ball.

 

"Leave it to professionals, Cindy Brady" I thought to myself.

Five ales and seven frames later, with a cringingly sick score of twelve, I turned my head to Pollyanna next door.

 

Kylie: 12

Little Miss Sunshine: 59

What the..????????????

Her mother sashayed over and purred to me in my ear "She's a natural isn't she?" she gushed, "I think she has an amazing way of balancing the spin on the balls!"

I smiled, and refrained from commenting on how her daughters amazing talent for balancing balls was a must for her future, shining career with the Big Bowls league…or perhaps with QANTAS.

That was enough for me. I grabbed my beer, dignity, and husband (mid throw) and marched out.

Losing a tight game of backgammon or even 'Operation' was one thing.

Being thrashed by Dakota Fanning, drugged up on Jelly-Belly jelly beans was just too much for this poor little ego.

So back to our upcoming "Games Night" this weekend -  I am quite excited about this.

Our hosts will be serving good wine and some interesting cuisine from  the African country of Eritrea, before we partake in the much-anticipated "Scattergories" competition.

Food from Eritrea is an eclectic mix of meat and vegetables which you eat with your hands.

Sharp eating utensils not required.

About the Author

Kylie is a well travelled free-lance writer who has been published in several magazines in Australia and the United States including "Honestly Woman" and "Third Coast Marketing".

Come on in..sit down and enjoy...bring your prescription drugs if necessary.