Not As Cool As Fred Flintstone

My sister and I were not your average children. We didn't play Beanie Babies or Hide and Go Seek. We didn't watch Timmy the Tooth and we didn't want to be princesses when we grew up. (I personally wanted to be a chain-smoker who frequently went to Blockbuster and smoked in the aisles as I chose a new release.) We made up our own games.

"Give me a Scotch on the rocks, Bartender."

"Need a light, as well?"

"Yeah thanks."

"Anytime, mister. Wanna talk about it?"

"My wife left me."

"Pssh. Women."

"Give me another drink in one of those tiny glasses."

We didn't know the "tiny glasses" were shot glasses. And yet we somehow knew exactly what to do with them.

"Which ones?"

"You know, the ones Mommy keeps up there!"

"Oh yeah!"

"I'm drunk."

"Let me call you a taxi."

The game always ended when the customer got drunk. Which happened fastest for us when we had apple juice. (Apple juice always tasted gross. Still does.)

Then we would cast spells in the backyard to summon the fairies.

"Salt?"

"Check."

"Nutmeg?"

"Check."

"Mello Yello?"

"Check."

"String of hair?"

"Ouch. Check."

"Pair of Dad's underwear?"

"Check. AND mom's."

Spells always consisted of whatever we could find and get away with taking. Our neighbor once brought a taped VHS of '90210' to throw into the cauldron. (The cauldron actually WAS a cauldron. We had bizarre things in our garage...)

"JUMP JIVE AN' WAIL!"

When every other kid on the block had one of those electric mini-convertibles that drove like REAL cars (with the speed limit of a tricycle going UPhill), we had a janky mini-van that ran on our own two feet. (picture Fred Flintstone's car without the cool zebra print. The day you realize you're not as cool as Fred Flintstone is a sad, sad day.) So, being too embarrassed to "drive" the thing, we invented a game to play on TOP of the thing. Basically you danced and danced until someone got sick of watching you and yelled, "JUMP JIVE AN' WAIL!" in which you must immediately echo, "JUMP, JIVE, AN' WAIL!" and then leap off so they could climb up and dance like Snoopy. (The title of the game came from a CD my dad played of old jazz hits, like Danke Schoen and Nat King Cole's L.O.V.E. For some reason Jump Jive An' Wail seemed to be most appropriate for mini-van-dancing.)

"FINE. I'll just play with ROSE."

We only had imaginary friends when we got into fights. We used the concept to make each other jealous. Poor Rose. I didn't even play with her, I just said I was going to in hopes that my sister would immediately regret her decision to quit the game and bite me in the back. (that's not a phrase by the way, she really did BITE me. my parents would only react when she "broke the skin," which happened quite frequently)

"This is my boyfriend, Stud Man Lee."

Stud Man Lee was a pillow in a floral pillowcase. (It's called using your resources.)

"This is MY boyfriend, Charlie."

Charlie was a giant raggedy-ann doll. (It's called pretending your doll doesn't have cascading locks and rosy cheeks and what WOULD be a va-jay-jay and instead naming her Charlie and drawing a goatee on her face.)

"I'm sick of these games. Let's get into pillowcases and sled down the stairs."

Ahhh...screw dating and parties. There are times you just gotta sled down some stairs.