I don’t know why I thought of this, but on the way home from work today I suddenly remembered this party in Grade Nine where a bunch of us sat around and played this board game. When it was your turn, you would take four random “event” tiles — things like “Eat a cake” or “Go to the dentist” or “Travel to India” — and rank them in order of which you would prefer. The other players then had to guess in what order you ranked said events.
Anyway, my opponent for this one memorable round was none other than Mr. Adrian. I ordered my tiles, and then he guessed. The first two events are lost to the mists of time, but the last two were “Lose your voice” and “See the Pope”. Adrian bet that I would rather do the latter than the former and he was.. wrong. And then incensed. “That’s crap! You’re lying! Who would want to lose their voice?!” he cried out. I tried to explain, but he stomped away and refused to play anymore.
And so, a number of years later (who can say how many years, darlings? -distracting hand wave-) I would like to explain my decision once and for all.
Benefits to losing your voice:
- You get to stay home from school/work.
- You can demand that people bring you ice cream.
- Losing your voice is the kind of affliction that people get in my favorite old novels, like consumption or accidentally falling in love with your cousin.
Reasons to avoid the Pope:
- We would likely have nothing to talk about. Do you think the Pope watches Top Chef?
- Not being Catholic, to me the Pope is just kind of this dude in a big hat.
- I would have to go back to Rome, and that worked out poorly the first time. It was approximately 18,000 degrees while I was there, and we would run out from the shade, admire some seriously gorgeous and significant piece of architecture, and then retreat back to our hostel and drink many litres of water.
I REST MY CASE, ADRIAN.
——————————
I noticed on the way home that there is a Sephora opening up less than a block away from my home. I will say farewell now to all my disposable income, as I expect to soon be spending it on bizarre European lip plumping creams and mascaras made from NASA technology. I won’t use any of these things, mind you, but I will buy them and stare at them, and love them with a fierce joy.
——————————
Proof that I am regressing:
The scene: the elevator this morning. Two pleasant looking Asian girls are having a conversation on one side. I am slouched over, half-awake on the other.
Girl One: “I don’t know, I put, like, twelve balls in my mouth this weekend, and now I don’t feel so good.”
Girl Two: “Oh yeah, I’ve done that. I totally know what you mean.”
Jessica: <unattractive, inappropriate snicker>
