It is all over when I enter a restaurant and see a Ms. Pac-Man game. This past weekend, Chris (my husband), two sons (Charlie Pride & Bocephus) and I went to eat at Star Pizza and...there it was sitting at the front. It cruelly called my name as we waited for the deep dish pizza and tea refills.
Oh, Keeeeeeeelllllllllllleeeeeeeeeey, getchu a KWAAATTTTTUHHHH!! Put your fork down (for all of our sakes) and come and plaaaaaaaaaaaay meeeee!!!!
I never have quarters. I hardly ever have cash. The moment I realize that I am lacking the fuel for my addiction, sweat begins to bead along my forehead. It is absolutely possible that I may grab a young toddler or elderly male by the shirt collar and demand that they empty their pockets at time like that.
I am not that addicted...
Now, you may not know it, but Ms. Pac-Man talks to me. I haven't seen anyone else talking at the Ms. Pac-Man table when I've stood impatiently by waiting for them to DIE so I can have a turn. Perhaps the two of us have a special relationship. It is a bit dysfunctional unfortunately. If I could put that arcade table in the back of my SUV, I would take the two of us to counseling. The following is a typical conversation between the two of us:
ME: Cram those pellets in your mouth and do it fast!
HER: Can't you (CHOMPCHOMPCHOMP) pass the (CHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMP) salt and pep(CHOMP)per??
ME: [In my most serious tone] "I do not have(GO GET THAT GHOST!!!) time to pass the (CAN'T YOU SEE THE STRAWBERRY?!?!) salt and pepper (GO GET THAT DANG PRETZEL!!). If you will cooperate, soon the pellets will be cherry-flavored.
HER: These white pellets (CHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMP) are more than I can take! I don't want to eat anymore!!!!!!!!!!
ME: Be happy you have something to eat! Mario, Luigi and Q-bert would give their right arm for a few bites of bland pellets (QUIT YOUR LOLLYGAGGING!!).
I always feel horrible when she starts spinning in a circle to the sound of "booo, boooo, booooo". I miss her terribly until I manage to find another quarter.
I know I can be extremely obnoxious at the arcade table. I feel horrible for that. I hardly even let Charlie Pride & Bocephus have a turn. Ms. Pac-Man would starve! I can't have that! I am obnoxious because I thought I could really tear a Ms. Pac-Man game up. I always prided myself in making that yellow circle with a wedge for a mouth, a Madonna mole (Hey! She got the mole removed in that picture on the right. So vain!!) and 80's blue eyeshadow seriously overeat. I just knew I was making Ms. Pac-Man debate taking on a food disorder while she was chompchompchompchompchomping on all of those boring, bland pellets at my direction. Iwas actually planning to have Ms. Pac-Man meet Ms. Lap-Band in the near future. I still feel horrible that she got stuck in one of those side tunnels and was actually begging for a ghost to just bite her in the hind end and end her misery... Anyway, I thought I was good until...my husband played. I wanted so badly for him to play so I could show him how good I was at Ms. Pac-Man. I wanted him to look at me in awe and wonder what he did to deserve me. I knew my score was untouchable. After all, a couple of 7-year-old girls watched me play and were absolutely amazed by my Ms. Pac-Man prowess. The top score was 25,100 when I sat down and I scored 25,000. Who could beat that????????
He scored 80,000+.
I managed to get that big arcade table into the front seat.