One of the things I love most about my husband AND least about my husband is his passion for playing board games. It is the most endearing thing in the world to watch how excited he becomes when a Scrabble board, or a deck of cards is pulled from its dusty hiding place…he does this little happy dance with his eyes, as he frolic’s around like a young kiddo restlessly anticipating Christimas morning…it’s adorable. Really it is. But on the flip side of that, it’s totally awful. Why? Well I kind of, maybe, sort of hate board games.
I know! I know! Who in their right mind would even admit to such a horrific thing?! Well, I’m admitting it, right here and right now: I HATE board games. I hate them, not because they’re not an entertaining thing to do on a cold, blustery raining Wednesday evening here in Seattle, but because I HATE to lose. I’m ridiculous! I pout until the cows come home after losing in a “friendly” match of Scattegories or Monopoly. My competitive edge is a tad too competitive, and out it comes in a ferocious fury when that die is rolled and I don’t walk away fist pumping the air in victory.
So I’m sure you can imagine my excitement a couple weeks ago…I was out on one of my random scouting trips, at one of my favorite vintage spots, and there it was. A big humongous jar of dice. Okay. I know. How excited can one really become over a jar of dice? Well, let’s just say I did my own little happy dance right then and there in the middle of the shop, not even caring that some dear sweet old gal was judging my dance from across the way.
The jar full of dice for me was that perfect combo of Adam and I put together. His love of games. My love of antiques. And our love for each other – right there in that jar.