A Wii Matter

Last fall, The Kiddo wrote a fairly persuasive letter to us about all the benefits of her acquiring a Wii for Christmas. The letter talked about she would get exercise and how it would be a way we could do things as a family. Oh, and it included a whole mess of "please-please-pleases."

Needless to say, The Husband and I fell for it hook, line and sinker, and we gave the Guy in The Big Red Suit the okay to bring one in on his sleigh. Rudolf wanted to keep it. Guess Santa knew who would win THAT tusslin' match if it involved The Kiddo's Wii.

Fast-forward all these many months. I give the thing regretful looks as it silently reproaches me for not sticking to the yoga promise I made to Wii Fit. I sometimes join The Kiddo for a spirited tennis doubles match, and on occasion, I will be the low man on the bowling family trio.

The Husband, though, loves it. He and The Kiddo are particularly enamored with Wii Golf. Why, I don't know, because that's one sport that he USED to flip right on past.

It's not a casual match-up between them, either. It's a to-the-death fight, with both of them providing sound effects that definitely blow up the golf-clap decibel meter. You'd think they were fighting it out for the honor of donning the Green Jacket, the way they muscle each other around that virtual golf course.

The Husband: Aaack! The ball hit the flag pole and bounced off!

The Kiddo (in her most helpful tone): You should have hit it a little softer.

(Thoughtful, respectful silence as The Kiddo lines up her shot, and then) The Husband: I wouldn't do that if I were you. See? The wind? Coming from the northeast? That's pretty stiff.

(Long debate ensues about wind angles, spin, choice of club, followed once again by silence and then a good sound whack)

The Kiddo (anguished): It went in the water! You told me the wind --

The Husband (laughing in his most evil tone) You should have listened to me and put more spin on it. Now I'm a stroke ahead.

The Kiddo: Hmph.

The Husband: (whacks ball, says something that sounds too much like a muffled swear word): Bogey.

The Kiddo (laughing in her most evil tone): You should have never tried that short cut through the trees. This hole is SO easy. (whacks ball) Ooooh! A BIRDIE! Oooh, Mommy! I got a BIRDIE! Wait? That was the last hole? Mommy, Mommy, I won! I won! I beat him!

The Husband: Hmph. I was doing okay until that last hole. I led every one.

I swear, this is a regular occurrence in our household. Now there is absolutely not a single sport The Husband won't watch on ESPN (yes, he even watches the lumber jack competitions), and they both look disappointed when they shout for me to come witness their holes in one and I don't exhibit proper awe and amazement. Each has such a feat to his or her credit, feats that they extol about with as much detail as if they had actually been on a golf course.

You know, maybe Rudolf SHOULD have kept the thing. That evil Santa ... he must have known what a Wii would do.