The winners stay winners in the game of life.
Tonight I've been nodding over a book (or actually, nodding over my new Kindle Fire, which yay for no creasing of pages when you faceplant into it), which is a favorite hobby of mine, especially satisfying after a long, tiring week. And each time I bob, it takes me a little longer to surface, until this last time, when I woke and realized I'd been not only asleep but dreaming.
My dream was this, and I'll keep it short, I promise: I was playing the Game of Life (a very interesting Game of Life that apparently worked something along the lines of Lisa Simpson's genesis tub) with my brother, who kept stepping away from the game to have not-quite-short phone conversations. This happened three or four times, and finally I made a sarcastic comment to him when he rang off. He said, "yeah, I really need to pay attention, because my family's pet shark went rabid during this last call, and I don't know what I'm going to do about that," and he held up a tiny grey peg that was copiously foaming at the tip.
I mean, who wouldn't want that game, am I right? As soon as I post this, I'm off to send Milton Bradley an e-mail.
My dream was this, and I'll keep it short, I promise: I was playing the Game of Life (a very interesting Game of Life that apparently worked something along the lines of Lisa Simpson's genesis tub) with my brother, who kept stepping away from the game to have not-quite-short phone conversations. This happened three or four times, and finally I made a sarcastic comment to him when he rang off. He said, "yeah, I really need to pay attention, because my family's pet shark went rabid during this last call, and I don't know what I'm going to do about that," and he held up a tiny grey peg that was copiously foaming at the tip.
I mean, who wouldn't want that game, am I right? As soon as I post this, I'm off to send Milton Bradley an e-mail.