One of my wife’s favorite games as a child was the Game of Life, so when she found out I had never played it, we immediately went to the store. After we set up the newly purchased game on the dining room table and my wife went over the basic rules with me, we began to play.
All was going well at first. I had successfully made it through college, was debt free, married, and had begun a successful career as a doctor. I had even just bought my first home—not exactly the one I was hoping for (the farmhouse), but a home nonetheless. I decided firmly against the family path and had chosen to focus on my career on the life path. I was happily cruising down life’s road, taking in the scenery with my wife at my side. Until everything fell apart.
While rounding the corner coming out of the life path, I landed smack dab on one of the straggler baby spaces that trails out of the family path. And I panicked.
I guess I should mention that I’ve never wanted kids. Throughout my life, it never occurred to me that I might one day have a child. I just don’t like them. Even as a child, I didn’t like them. I would go to my friends’ houses for sleepovers and wind up with them mad at me because I would hang out with their parents all night.
I’ve always wanted the freedom to live my life any way I wanted, and kids do not factor into that equation. That’s what made this turn of events quite unfortunate.
“Oh, well,” I said. “I choose not to take advantage of this space.”
“You can’t choose not to do it. If you land on a baby space, you have to add a baby to your car.”
“But I don’t want a baby.”
“The game doesn’t allow for that option.”
“But it’s the game of life, and in life, I would have the option to choose not to have a baby.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t work that way here.”
“This is a bullshit game,” I said, my chest tightening.
“Are you seriously freaking out about this?” my wife asked.
“Yes! I don’t like kids. I don’t want kids. I’ve been having fun cruising down this road, and all of a sudden, everything’s been ruined by this damn kid I don’t want.”
“Just suck it up and put the kid in your car.”
I know it sounds ridiculously dramatic, but I was really panicking, trying to think of something—anything—to get out of this predicament. I looked around the board for an out, and my eyes landed on these thin little disks about the diameter of an M&M. I think they’re made to be placed on the spinner or something, but I had other ideas.
“If I have to take this damn kid in my car, can I, at least, wedge this disk in between the front seat and the back seat so I can pretend they’re not riding around with me?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Will that make you feel better?”
“Yes.”
“OK, go ahead. Put your little disk in the car.”
I did.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief, “much better.”
“Moving on, then,” my wife said, as she made her next move.
It was my turn again, and I spun the wheel to see how many spaces I needed to travel. When the wheel stopped, I could see my wife glancing at the board to see where I was going to land. A smile crept across her face.
“Oh, god,” I said. “What?”
She started laughing. “Congratulations. You just had twins.”
Silence.
The Procrastinating Writer 