The child hood game 'Mystery Date,' set me up for unreal expectations.
Meet your secret admirer. My ass. When we opened it to play at my grandma's house, all grandpa's porn was hidden inside. Grandma obviously hadn't played for a long time.
EWWWW What the fuck Grandpa? Well, that's a version of what grandma said. We played anyway. Is your date behind the door or just one of Grandpa's whores?
There's all the dates, in the right corner, not counting the girls havin anal sex. Everybody wanted the formal dance date. He's second to right. I got him once and he was gay. Just another life imitating Milton Bradley. He really wanted the beach date. Now they're legally married in Iowa.
The bowler date, second from left, didn't really have a ball in that bag, it was turkey, beer and chocolate cake. He was later replaced with the picnic date. Now he's obese and couldn't lift a bowling ball unless it was off a grill. The skiing date was a player. He left me on the bunny hill for Claudine Longet and she killed him. Proving what we knew all along, Andy Williams was the dud.
They reissued the game it, but the revisions were thinly veiled repeats. The formal dance date is now my hair dresser and is fabulous. He and beach date are proud parents of twins.
The bowler is now the stalker so you have to have the
card to get rid of him. The dud is now a construction worker. What a difference an, 'e,' makes.
And she's the mystery. Not a fairy. Not a God. Not a Mother. I'm not ready. Grandpa knew someone who looked like her. Lock the door.
(c)copyright donna maysack 2013