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Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Do Not Collect £200 Do Not Pass Go

Last night something amazing happened.
For those who know me, they know that whenever they play monopoly with me, something bad happens. It's like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde only in Mariel terms. It usually starts if I don't get to be my favourite character when choosing those little metal figurines. If I'm not the top hat, donut or chewbacca (depending on which monopoly we're playing.. yes, that's how into monopoly I am, different sets), I go ape shit. I'll start of saying, hey, how's about we do rock paper scissors for it?
Then I'll bust your nose.

Anyway. I received this evil monopoly gene from my Dad, who, for my entire life, has always reduced me to a gibbering wreck, trying to pay my £700 debts in £1 notes anytime we've played monopoly.
Last night, we all played old school French monopoly together, old school, like it still used Francs, DOPE.
I say "we all" but to be fair, the only players were me and my dad. Everyone else was pussy shit. Refusing trades and wimp-bidding at auctions. However, it was in this relaxed atmosphere my Dad let slip. He inadvertently made a trade that resulted in me getting the full set of reds.
Yet again, for anyone who knows me playing monopoly, once I've got me a set, especially if it's the reds, I go MENTAL. Like you don't even know. I become this horrible, gloating character not unlike Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. 

Anyhow, my reds, teamed with a couple of lucky skillful throws of the die and fortuitous inevitable and fair chance cards meant I beat my father for the first time at monopoly.
On Tuesday, the 10th of August 2010 at 7.30pm over a glass of red wine and a packet of chicken crisps, history was made in a barn in the south of france. 

I'll treasure this forever

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