Last weekend in the waning hours of our Gourmet Club’s groovy 60s party, our hosts brought out a game I’d never seen before.
Bop It! Ahhhh!
An ugly charades incident I’d rather not talk about had fired up my competitive juices and, in its aftermath, I had been working hard to tamp down the ridiculous aggression and settle sweetly back into mellow party mode.
Flick it!
I chatted amiably with my fellow party goers, most of whom, like me, are hitting the half-century mark this year. I nibbled daintily on delicious lemon/blueberry cake.
Twist it!
I had just about repaired my image when our hostess and friend Hsing-Yi placed Bop It! Extreme2 in my rookie hands.
Oh Boy!
A portal in the space/time continuum swallowed me up and the party wound down without me.
Spin It! Pull It! Bop It!
There on the basement floor of a pleasant home in Kimberly, Wisconsin I battled the forces of Hasbro and the nearly alliterate Beat Bop Solo.
Dude!
I knew I’d beat that cocky game. I just needed to reach the …
Flick It! Spin It! Pull It! Bop It! Bop It! Bop It!
My right hand began to cramp slightly and a few beads of sweat dotted my brow. Impatiently, I brushed them away.
Bop it! Flick it!
I’m turning 50 this year. I’ll never be a rock star, or an Olympian, or the global marketing director for a Fortune 500 Company. But, I WILL BEAT THIS GAME!
Bop It!
I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.
“You can take the game home with you,” said my friend Hsing Yi. “I think you should.”
I looked around the empty room. My fellow party guests had all gone home.
Do it the same. But Better! You’re Out!
I’ve been a little too busy this week to take on the important task of beating Hsing-Yi’s Bop It game. But it’s there on my dining room table, taunting me.
And, tomorrow is Saturday.
Bop It!
It’s on.
