Santa brought a Playstation Move for the boy. While he had expected a Wii or an Xbox Kinect (having written a small note to Santa requesting either device), the fellow was quite pleased. He spent six hours whacking demons and skeletons on a medieval quest to obtain a jewel. Every time he was stymied, he'd yell at me. "It's because you're not telling me what to do!"
"Shield, shield!" I would shout. "Arrows! Shield, shield!"
"Don't shout at me!" the boy would yell back.
"Don't shout at the boy," the wife would say.
"I'm telling him what to do," I would say.
"Let him figure it out," the wife would say.
Flying crosses would fly at Deadmund and he would sag and grunt with every impact.
"I'm running out of life," the boy would say. "Help me, acha!"
"Shield, shield!" I would shout. "Arrows! Shield, shield!"
"Don't shout at me!" the boy would yell back.
"Don't shout at the boy," the wife would say.
Et cetera ad eternam.
1 comments:
Yes, DON'T yell at the boy and of course, let him figure it out.
Gosh, how many women have to tell you the SAME thing.
And the quiz, shall mail some answers later, maybe even next year.
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