The Catbird Seat

I can make such a butt of myself sometimes.

Really.

(insert heavy sarcasm here) I know that’s a real shock for some of you.

For my sake, just try to look surprised, okay? Sheesh.

Like tonight.

We were with some of our very best friends, playing a relatively unfamiliar game (to all of us) called “Carcassonne.”

It’s actually pretty cool. The basic format is this: players select “tiles” that when turned over reveal a bird’s eye view of a geographical scene (road, grass, cloister, city, or some combination of them). These are placed together in such a way to form an entire countryside. Players put their playing pieces on the various roads, cities and farms to “claim” them thus acquiring points. At the end of the game, points are awarded and the player with highest points wins. That’s an incredible oversimplification, but for these purposes, it should suffice.

The game was progressing along fairly well until we got close to the end.

That would be the point where I really started acting like a butt.

One of my strategies in the game was to “claim” an ever-growing piece of land as a farm. It was huge, and just kept getting bigger. It was my understanding that the points I would receive from this farm were dependent on how many cities it bordered.

It bordered a lot.

As we began nearing the end of the game, my very strategic (and very cunning) husband placed his playing piece on a piece of land to claim it as a farm. In two quick moves, “my” farm became “his” farm due to his 2 pieces to my one.

I was ticked. It showed.

In addition to his terrible cleverness, I also found out that farms only get to count the completed cities that they border. “My” farm (actually Paul’s farm) only bordered one completed city.

My entire strategy for the game had been based on a slightly, but significantly incorrect knowledge of the point-tallying process. I had all my eggs in my farm basket, and my farm basket had just been snatched out of my greedy little hands, metaphorically speaking.

I whined. I complained. I sighed. I had a pity party to which I invited others. No one came.

When I realized the whining wasn’t working, I somewhat angrily pointed out the obvious injustice of the whole situation. No one was buying it.

Then I pouted in an adult huff. I actually said out loud, “Well this game WAS fun, but now I just wish we hadn’t played it!” (or something like it that was just as incredibly childish.)

It was pretty bad. I think our friends were starting to get annoyed.

And then, a miracle happened! One of my previously-played pieces became part of the farm, too! My 2 farm pieces tied Paul’s 2 farm pieces…we would each get the points! Hurray!

HURRAY! The game was redeemed!

Except for that pity party that I had just had…

And the whining…

And the indignation over the injustice…

And to make matters worse, my husband (you know, the one who had stolen “my” farm in the first place?) was the one who had actually helped me place the piece that ultimately made it a tie. I had previously gone so far as to say, “Well, if I had KNOWN THAT about the cities, I wouldn’t have put this piece THERE!”

Yep. The very same piece got me back in the game.

And of course, one of our very best friends just couldn’t resist pointing out that very thing to me. As if I didn’t know.

Just once, I’d like to get all mad and huffy and it NOT blow up in my face later. Just once.

You’d think I’d learn.

I don’t even like the taste of crow. It’s very bitter and the aftertaste is the pits.

Filed under: General, Catbird, Random Thoughts on April 29th, 2006