The spawnage were in a bizarrely collective good mood after school today, so, buoyed by their brio, I asked them if they wanted to play a game. They balked at all of my suggestions (Uno, Jenga, "you-guys-do-something-while-I-
lie-on-the-couch"), but then Mr. Z suggested charades. I gave them a "why the fuck not," and off we went. Mr. Z grabbed the paper, I got some pencils and, as I was about to tear off some paper to write down some ideas, Mr. Z informed me that, no, he, and he only, would be crafting the clues. I made a pathetic attempt at disagreement, but then gave in because... well, because that gave me an additional 10 minutes of lying on the couch, so what the shit?
Miss O grabbed a hat and the boy threw in the clues, and off we went. Now, charades is tough enough with one adult and two kids under 10, but it's pretty much fucking impossible when all the clues are written by a nine year old who basically doesn't understand that in charades, the idea is to make it within the realm of possibilities that the other people playing may have an actual chance at GUESSING THE FUCKING CLUES! And who is obsessed with poop.
Here are the four clues I chose in order of non-sequiturness:
By the way, the last one there is, apparently, "a stinky butt." I think the one that gave me the most difficulty was "Kevin's poo." Miming poo is a challenge, but getting across the idea that the poo belongs to Kevin... well, I'm afraid even the late, great Marcel Marceau would've been trapped in a box on that one.
Oh, and since Mr. Z wrote all the clues, I was acting this shit out solely for Miss O, whose stock answer was "[whining] I don't knooowwwww! Dad! Just tell me!!!!"
All I know is, tomorrow we play Jenga.