Rats and gamblers

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. I was just trying to keep my husband from becoming involved in gambling, as any conscientious wife would do. But before I knew it, wham! I had turned into a cold-blooded killer.

Held against my will at the video game store, I watched Joe read through all the games. He kept going back to one in particular. I looked at it more closely. Poker, said the cover. Thinking it my wifely duty to steer him away from the vice of gambling, I searched for something more suitable.

"How about this one?" I said encouragingly. I held up Ratatouille.

He read the description. " 'There are special cooking games, wild rides down the sewer, and logic games about matching control buttons,' " he read. He looked up. "Whoo, those 'special cooking games' sound exciting."

"If we get this one, I'll play it too," I said rashly.

And that is how Ratatouille came home with us.

He held me to my promise of playing the game with him. "Okay, but I hope there's no violence," I warned.

He assured me that this was a mild, pleasant sort of game.

"I meant from you," I said, "if I don't do very well at this game. Video games tend to increase real-life violence, you know."

He sighed and said he doubted he would be inspired to acts of violence if I didn't help Remy locate all his apple cores in a timely fashion.

"Just so you know," I said.

So I set about learning how to maneuver Remy around and helping him collect the apple cores. It was a good thing this was a game for beginners, and that every time I made a misstep, Remy got another life. Otherwise it would have been an extremely short game.

Just as I was learning how to make Remy do cartwheels, he came to a little bird hovering in the air. A spoon appeared in Remy's hand.

"What's this?" I said.

"You have to hit the bird with the spoon," Joe announced.

I was horrified. "I have to hit a cute widdle Tweety Bird?" I said. "What kind of game is this?"

"I don't think you'll hurt it," he assured me. "You'll just swipe it out of your way."

"Can't I just pretend it's not there?" I said desperately.

"You won't be able to move forward if you don't get it out of the way," he insisted.

Women, see, really don't care about things like moving forward, especially if it means taking out innocent little birds in the process. But, mindful of that real-life violence I might be instigating if I continued in my refusal, I hit the bird. It flew into a bazillion pieces.

I gave Joe the controller. "I think I'll just stick with Clue," I said. "At least all the killing in that game is theoretical. By the way, how many points did I rack up?"

"You don't get any points this time," Joe said. "This was just a tutorial."

I stared at him. "All that was just a tutorial? I haven't even played a real game yet?" I was exhausted.

A week later he went back to the video game store, without me, and got Poker. And I, the destroyer of innocent wildlife, could not say a word.

We would like to welcome back Squire #3, who was greatly missed the last few weeks. You had us worried there. We sincerely hope your absence was not due to any gambling or other unsavory pursuits.