FFLF

I should have known better. The Swanster warned me, but I ignored it. I’ve been surrounded by the fairer sex all of my life, so I should be hip to the signs.

But the call came at a moment of weakness. I was home from work. We had just picked up our daughter from her week-long getaway at camp, and I was unwinding in front of the tube watching a history channel program on World War I with colorized film footage.

The guys were going to play a quick game of Carcasonnne. So, instead of watching other guys from almost a century ago marching around and blowing up things, I could engage in my own board game battle. I could challenge two friends to a struggle of building the best cities and roads and farm fields, as we chop each other out of the best locations on the table.

The Swansmith was not keen to the idea of me taking off at suppertime to hang with the guys. Plus she was getting bad vibes about going to a place where two guys were in charge of three pre-school kids while their wives were away. “Who’s going to watch the kids?” she asked. They can watch each other as we play, I reasoned. Makes sense. That’s what toys are for. (Besides, it turns out they spent most of the time playing dress up. At least they didn’t play beautician or doctor.)

My fatal flaw was in forgetting about the FFLF, the Female Fun Limitation Factor. I listen to Garage Logic enough to know that the “fun-impaired” ones don’t always like guys to hang out and have a good time. And often when said individuals enter the room, the fun quickly comes to an end. To put it gently, our game was not finished this evening. With boyish grins we had to pick up our toy and go home early. Back home to where I could anticipate my “I told you so.”

To be fair though, the Swanmeister was extremely gracious and forgiving and even apologetic. She should have more forcefully knocked some sense into my head and made me take her to a movie, one where nobody gets blown up, but lots of people are crying.

C’est la vie!