So the Old Lady's gotten herself hooked on "Animal Crossing," one of the game we have for the Wii. It started during her Spring Break and now, almost every night after we put the spawnage to bed, she scurries downstairs and ties off, heats her Wii-mote over a lighter and shoots a little AC junk into her veins. Which is great for her -- she usually hates video games... I think the last one she played was... I don't know, Frogger?
The thing is, I'm usually the one who bolts downstairs after tuckin' in the spawnage. I've got my little routine -- stop off at the kitchen, grab a sleeve or two of Thin Mints and a glass of water, poke my bony ass points into my perma-indents in the couch and either play Animal Crossing myself, or play a rousing game of Bobby Buttons with the fucking remote. But now that the Old Lady's gone all Amy Wii-nehouse on me, she's fucked it all up.
So, I'll usually just sit there next to her, while she goes fishing or plants some fucking flowers, and make comments that, apparently, really piss her off. Things like, "You know, it'd be easier if you'd just go upstream a little and let it float down toward the fish," or "Are you almost done because watching you play this game is about to make my head fucking explode." Seriously... watching someone else fish in Animal Crossing is akin to watching water boil... which then proceeds to bubble the fuck over and splatters all over your face until strips of said face peel off like fruit rollups and you look like that dude in the bathroom in Poltergeist.
But we worked it all out... she's still playing and I stomped upstairs to complain about it in the blog I don't update anymore. See? Everybody's happy.