Well, if I had a Halloween story, I’d definitely share it with you. The problem is that in Romania we don’t have Halloween (at least when we were living there, we didn’t). I can’t be sure, but I think I experienced my first Halloween in Japan. A traditional Japanese Halloween which begins at the end of September and suddenly disappears a little before October 31st, only to be replaced, on November 1st, by Christmas. The Japanese are very good at killing their holidays—something like “The King is dead, long live the King!” Despite the big scale (and often purely commercial) fuss made before a holiday, the next day (or even the actual holy day, because here it’s the Eve that counts) nothing remains to remind us that the event really existed. A way to avoid post-holiday depression, maybe?
Anyway, I’m digressing. What I wanted to tell you is the story of our monster T-shirts. They are part of my strategy for world domination. I mean, Scrabble World Championship domination. For Adrian, not for me, of course. I know, it’s not the Wimbledon, it’s not even chess, but it would still pay for a nice relaxing holiday on a beach somewhere. Plus a couple of massages and spa treatments. So:
Step 1: Wear monster T-shirt to intimidate your opponent. The design could be interpreted in two ways. (a) “I’m big, green and scary. Do you really want to mess with me?” or (b) “This is how you’ll end up if you keep playing Scrabble. Are you sure you want to finish the game?”
Step 2: Aroma therapy. This has to be done methodically. First collect at least 10 pairs of socks that had been worn while playing table tennis and put them in a plastic bag. Preferably a thick one, as they may be radioactive. Tie bag tightly until the time has come to unleash the demons. Wear the said socks on competition days and carry the bag containing the other pairs with you.
Second: Garlic and onions are good for you, so indulge. Especially before important games. Mexican beans and Japanese burdock are also recommended for their explosive effect.
Third: Win a game a couple of months before the Championship (Adrian could easily accomplish this by playing with me) and stop washing that very day, in order not to jinx your streak of good luck.
Step 3: Stop doing any housework weeks before the competition (I’d say months, but it’s me who will suffer after all). Allow your wife to start a conversation about chores and responsibilities during a game, in a language that your opponent understands. Wear your poker face and tell him: “If I lose, she’s yours.” (The effect increases dramatically if you can persuade said wife to go on a chocolate-and-pizza diet for at least half a year.)
Scary, huh?
Anyway, I’m digressing. What I wanted to tell you is the story of our monster T-shirts. They are part of my strategy for world domination. I mean, Scrabble World Championship domination. For Adrian, not for me, of course. I know, it’s not the Wimbledon, it’s not even chess, but it would still pay for a nice relaxing holiday on a beach somewhere. Plus a couple of massages and spa treatments. So:
Step 1: Wear monster T-shirt to intimidate your opponent. The design could be interpreted in two ways. (a) “I’m big, green and scary. Do you really want to mess with me?” or (b) “This is how you’ll end up if you keep playing Scrabble. Are you sure you want to finish the game?”
Step 2: Aroma therapy. This has to be done methodically. First collect at least 10 pairs of socks that had been worn while playing table tennis and put them in a plastic bag. Preferably a thick one, as they may be radioactive. Tie bag tightly until the time has come to unleash the demons. Wear the said socks on competition days and carry the bag containing the other pairs with you.
Second: Garlic and onions are good for you, so indulge. Especially before important games. Mexican beans and Japanese burdock are also recommended for their explosive effect.
Third: Win a game a couple of months before the Championship (Adrian could easily accomplish this by playing with me) and stop washing that very day, in order not to jinx your streak of good luck.
Step 3: Stop doing any housework weeks before the competition (I’d say months, but it’s me who will suffer after all). Allow your wife to start a conversation about chores and responsibilities during a game, in a language that your opponent understands. Wear your poker face and tell him: “If I lose, she’s yours.” (The effect increases dramatically if you can persuade said wife to go on a chocolate-and-pizza diet for at least half a year.)
Scary, huh?
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