What a blast this would be. That Matthew Baldwin guy sure knows how to have fun.
So how can I play the Game? Would anybody ever invite me? Could I talk Hubby into playing?
Tiger is as enthusiastic as I am. He wants me to find out when they’ll play the Game in San Diego so the two of us can run off and play. Or maybe it’s a ruse: I find out where the Game is, and HE runs away to play it.
Whatever, we’re too wrapped up in other obligations to even think about spending a weekend in a rented van. Which, by the way, will cost big bucks right there. The rental fees will be nothing in comparison to the gas bill. It took $72 to fill up my gas tank yesterday.
Besides, we’d probably get a really awful theme. Instead of the way cool Galactic Consortium Press, it’d be probably something like Lovers of Fifities Functional, or Square Dancing Mafia.
Or we’d get into some major trouble when we discover our Game was used to cover up something insidious—like an actual crime! Because when you actually think about it, who puts this activity together?
Perhaps the drug lords are working on the San Diego version right now. A ton of cocaine, brought into the country right under the DEA’s nose! Players of the Game throw them off track by swarming all over the docks after solving a cryptic puzzle. The puzzle’s answer is: “Pretend you are smuggling a ton of cocaine! 100 points to each team authentic enough to get questioned by police!”
Hubby would have to bail Tiger and me out of the DEA slammer, and we’d drive home in shame, our heads hanging low as we consider how we were tricked by the Game. Oh, the humanity.
Whew. I think I need to cut down on my morning coffee.
