We had a friend of Newt’s as a guest for the weekend. And, although I heard plenty of giggling, I rarely ever saw the girls. They played practically non-stop, only pausing to report when they were hungry.
Unfortunately for them, I had errands to run which meant I had to intrude on their playtopia (see how did that? I combined play and utopia. Oh, the cleverness of me!) and drag them along to Target, the party store, and the bank invite them to come with me. To keep from having to make lunch reward them for humoring me, I took them out for pizza.
While waiting for our food, Newt’s friend, who has two teen-aged sisters, suggested we play Truth or Dare. [Insert scary music here.]
Not Truth or Dare! The horror. Right there in our booth, I experienced a humiliating flashback of having to choose whether to drink raw eggs blended with water from the fishtank, Hershey’s Syrup and Tabasco Sauce, or tell who I really liked.
If I think about it, I can still taste that nasty little cocktail.
Truth or Dare is not a nice game.
But, since the girls are little and the pizza was taking soooo long, I let them play with the provision that no one was allowed to ask anything that might hurt someone.
The friend went first. Newt said truth.
My palms started to sweat.
“Have you ever…”
She paused to think about what she should ask.
“…eaten a snail?”
Hilarius giggles and a “no” from my girl.
Dare.
“I dare you to drink all of your juice-box.”
I started to relax.
These are good girls. And young girls. Girls with nothing to hide.
Me on the other hand…
“Mom, will you play?”
I said truth.
“Have you ever tooted in someone else’s car and pretended like it wasn’t you?”
Um, anyone have any Tabasco Sauce?
