Come play with us
To preface my story, I would like to note that I have been playing a lot of Clue as of late. By "a lot" I mean 5-6 times a week, 4-5 games a night. My roommate and I and our good friend Jake have each developed our own intricate coding system, and a game hardly ever lasts more than 15-20 minutes tops, or much less, especially since we have eliminated the use of the die.
Anyway.
A quiet weekday evening found Deb, Jake and myself lounging on the couch under a pile of blankets, our attention focused intently on the Clue board that was arrayed precariously on the orange trunk serving as a coffee table. The overhead light was glaring intensely and impersonally down upon our living room, glinting off Lightbulb's eye as he jumped energetically across the floor, trying vainly to catch his tail, and mussing up all the rugs as he made his way across the room. A tiny flowerpot containing a few roaches lay perched on the table, hiding next to an old cigar box. As I leaned lazily across the table to turn on the small lamp that resides there, Jake arose, allowing the cold air to flow under the blankets and attack my feet. He crossed the room, leaning over in the corner to plug in the "mood lighting" strung along the far wall. The overhead light just had to go. The switch for the big light shared a space next to the switch for the porch light, which is never in use simply because the front door is always forgone in favor of the side door exiting out of the kitchen. However, on this particular day, for some unknown reason, the porch light was flipped on. As Jake made his way towards the light switch, Deb and I, in perfect unison from our position on the couch, said, "hey, can you turn off that other light too?" It was very reminiscent of the two girls in "The Shining" requesting that the little boy come play with them. After a shocked moment of silence, we all burst into a laughter that had a tinge of creeped-out-ed-ness to it.
My life has become so small and comfortable. That can't be a good thing.
Anyway.
A quiet weekday evening found Deb, Jake and myself lounging on the couch under a pile of blankets, our attention focused intently on the Clue board that was arrayed precariously on the orange trunk serving as a coffee table. The overhead light was glaring intensely and impersonally down upon our living room, glinting off Lightbulb's eye as he jumped energetically across the floor, trying vainly to catch his tail, and mussing up all the rugs as he made his way across the room. A tiny flowerpot containing a few roaches lay perched on the table, hiding next to an old cigar box. As I leaned lazily across the table to turn on the small lamp that resides there, Jake arose, allowing the cold air to flow under the blankets and attack my feet. He crossed the room, leaning over in the corner to plug in the "mood lighting" strung along the far wall. The overhead light just had to go. The switch for the big light shared a space next to the switch for the porch light, which is never in use simply because the front door is always forgone in favor of the side door exiting out of the kitchen. However, on this particular day, for some unknown reason, the porch light was flipped on. As Jake made his way towards the light switch, Deb and I, in perfect unison from our position on the couch, said, "hey, can you turn off that other light too?" It was very reminiscent of the two girls in "The Shining" requesting that the little boy come play with them. After a shocked moment of silence, we all burst into a laughter that had a tinge of creeped-out-ed-ness to it.
My life has become so small and comfortable. That can't be a good thing.
posted by Emma at 6:00:00 PM
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