Monday, July 7, 2014

I am not the New Marketing Director for Milton Bradley

Two days ago I was part of a brutal hostage negotiation situation.

It lasted around 40 minutes, but felt like four hours.  At one point I feared for the lives of my boys, but there was nothing I could do.  I had to be brave and patient and a bunch of other things I'm not very good at.

I am talking, of course, about Candy Land.

Oh, Candy Land, how do I loathe thee?  Let me count the ways:  You last forever.  FOREVER.  You teach nothing but basic color recognition and how to take turns, and let's be honest, I can get that from Uno and actually have fun in the process.  Worst of all, you are achingly, mind-numbingly boring.  Hey, look, I drew a yellow.  And now I drew a blue.  Yellow again.  What's this?  Two greens in a row?  What am I going to do with all this dopamine flooding through my brain at the euphoria induced by skipping my plastic gingerbread man twice across the board?  Well, don't worry, I have 45 MORE MINUTES to figure it out.

At one point I was so worried my brain was going to revolt and force me into a sanity-saving coma that I began reading way too much into the Candy Land characters.

Lord Licorice:

The villain in this tale, I figure he either has an eating disorder, a tapeworm, or is French.  Caedmon just got mad I kept referring to him as a, well, him; it's very clear to Caedmon that Lord Licorice is a woman.  I haven't engaged in a Man or Woman debate this heated since my sister Kelli and I saw a picture of Michael Jackson on the cover of People magazine in the late '80s.  (For the record, she said Woman, I said Man.  I'm still not entirely sure who was right.)

Gramma Nutt:

Her house disturbs me more than anything.  She's obviously not one of those grandmas who believe Cleanliness is Next to Godliness, and how exactly does that chimney work in a house made of peanut brittle?  Not to mention the fact that she better have one heck of a septic system if all she's eating is peanuts.  

Elton John.

Eats his feelings.  (According to The Legend of the Lost Candy Castle:  "...But ever since the King's disappearance, Plumpy does more eating than gathering... growing more plump and more glum with every bite of a plum.")

I'm confused.  Is he eating himself?  That's, like, extreme cannibalism.  

King Kandy:
Might as well be wearing a sign that reads, "Come on in, children!  I'm definitely not a pedophile in 14 states!"


  1. I have felt your pain. Playing Candy Land rendered me brain-dead. Your write-up of it, though, is hilarious.

    I hope your children will soon become fond of better games. I'm trying to think of some: Mousetrap (but there are always parts that break or get lost), Slamwich, Parcheesi (still one of Younger Daughter's favorites), Pit. Heck, teach them how to read numbers on playing cards and then teach them how to play Texas Hold-em or Blackjack.

    Anything but Candy Land.

  2. Hee, hee--Alan and I always groan and look at one another in panic when the children choose this game. Truthfully, I usually find something urgent to do and desert him. Yep, I'm a good wife!


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