(Note: Yesterday’s post was my 700th published. About 60 days short of three years doing this, I figure that’s one post every 1.4 days.)
Before the thievery on Saturday, there was a windfall of epic proportions.
Sometimes, you just get lucky.
You’ll recall that we were at a place featuring games that spit out tickets rewarding success. I neglected to mention the reason behind Shannon’s vehemence in getting back her swiped tokens. It all ties in with today’s topic — hoarding.
We had tried to convince Benjamin at the first party that he should save his mere 190 tickets (the bulk of those awarded for attending) and combine them with what he would win that evening. For a not-quite-five year-old, that’s a distant probability, and it’s a pipe dream amidst the mob of his peers bombarding the prize counter.
Considering the theft earlier in the day, I’m tempted to say that fate turned the tables for Benjamin that night. Whatever the reason, a game gone berserk buried him in tickets during the second birthday party. More than 840, to be nearer precise. (photo courtesy of Alvis)
Naturally, in the face of a major win we wanted more for our boy. Shannon pushed her Skee-ball lane to its limit while I played a variation on the theme. That’s when the infamous swiper swooped.
When redeeming his fake money for chintzy prizes, Benjamin chose a pretty cool helicopter that flies very well after its ripcord is pulled. Plus a whoopee cushion — because once he saw kids using one at the first party, nothing could stand in his way of getting his own. The helicopter is rated for children ages 8 and up, probably due to the considerable length of 25-lb. test line* on the retractable ripcord assembly and the fast chopping action of the blades. We didn’t think of that until the teen behind the prize counter had handed it over to Ben.
Once a brain gets high on hoarding, there’s no telling what it might miss.
* This is a fishing reference, a rarity here that you’ll not likely see again soon.