Two nights ago we roped my sister into playing a game with us. We even convinced Mum to join in which is a wonder after the introduction we gave it.
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun… actually, you’ll probably hate it because it’s about gambling, women, stealing and stuff. But maybe you won’t!”
If you’ve ever met my Mum, you’ll probably have noticed one of her shining virtues is that she’s a very honest, honourable person with a huge amount of respect for her fellow human beings. She does not like lying, cheating, stealing or anything of that nature. She wants all the horses to have a fun day. And she likes to follow rules (they help control the fun).
Anyway, she agreed to play and proceeded to kick our sorry asses. But because this game is about taking what you can get, any way you can get it, she was forced into an awkward alliance with this unfamiliar part of herself.
Us: Mum, you have three Queens so you get to steal a card from another player.
Mum: Oh that’s not very nice.
Us: Muuum! Choose a player – look at three of their cards – take one. It’s the rules!
Mum: Well, okay then…
By the end I think she’d warmed to the idea and even had something of a strategy going. And she had clobbered us. Soundly.
Then there was the post-game autopsy which provided this little gem:
Me: Well done Mum, that’s the highest score I’ve seen.
Mum: Thanks but I don’t really know what I did to win by so much.
Burfit: You stole my horse!
Mum: I didn’t steal it, I won the right to choose it.
Good grief woman.