It seems the game of Scattegories has taken over my family. And it seems Zoe’s got a little competitive streak. Mom and Dad had Zoe and I and both Big and New Chris over for dinner last night, a dinner which ended in a heated and hotly contested game of Scattegories. Games of any kind are taken quite seriously, and Scattegories has become our new obsession. Dad actually contested Zoe’s answers by running to the computer, only to be proved wrong. A company named Molly McButter does indeed exist! 2 points for Zoe. (I believe Dad even signed her up for their newsletter, to exact his revenge.)
The last time we played, Big Chris spent the entire next day e-mailing my family with links to prove his contested answers. He arrived last night with a new plan. According to the rules, you’re not supposed to look up answers anywhere. The players vote with thumbs up or down, a collective and official decision on an answer. Let me just say, people took the thumb thing way too seriously.
When dad offered “Lake Tahoe State Park” as a park beginning with the letter L, Big Chris screamed, “Thumbs way down, Dick!”
“Those kind of places are always state parks.” Dad bluffed.
Turns out, there IS a Lake Tahoe State Park. 1 point for Dad.
For celebrities beginning with the letter L, I was desperate for a double-pointer and came up with the obscure Lorenzo Lamas. Unfortunately, Big Chris had the same stroke of genius and we cancelled each other out. For sad and unexplainable reasons, Zoe’s the only one who came up with Lindsey Lohan. I’m still kicking myself this morning.
Apparently spending lots of time with dignitaries, New Chris offered “clapping” as a C word for a way of greeting someone. We agreed to give him a thumbs up, but only if we were allowed to wildly applaud every time he entered the room. Also Chris, “large knife” doesn’t count as an L word for anything.
And finally, poor mom, who has played this game a thousand times, completely forgot the rules and thought of 12 H words for things you’d find at a picnic. She spent the rest of the evening being harassed by her fellow players, who would periodically yell, “How about hot sauce, Joanne.” “Need any horseradish?” “Oh Joanne, can you pass me some ham? Just kidding…”