Though we haven’t met, we’ve been together long enough now that you’ve formed certain impressions of me.
You are, for example, aware of my flair for the dramatic.
You might have correctly assumed, from my passionate departure from the world each autumn, that dressing up and doing creepy shit is literally what keeps my heart beating.
Thus you are forgiven your surprise at the following factoid: I have never attended a murder mystery.
Correction: I hadn’t. Until Audrey hosted one.*
ME: Audrey tells me you haven’t RSVP’d to the party.
HIM: She changed it for me.
HIM: She did it this morning.
ME: She asked me if you were going and I said “boyz r yucky”
ME: Then I complained about having to talk to you, ugh.
HIM: As long as I’m not the one being murdered. It’s a little suspicious, the way—
ME: I make no promises.
HIM: … Fair enough.
Y’all know what’s been going on, between family and my gorgeous brindle pup, so you know I needed this.
I especially needed to be the murderer, but apparently Audrey drew names out of a hat or something because—spoiler alert—it wasn’t me.**
But you’re not here for a play-by play of the murders (grisly) or the mystery (I totally solved it) or even the dinner (soooo good, y’all; Audrey can cater my demise anytime). No, you’re here about the loooong drive up to Wisconsin.
… And partway back again—no, I did not do the thing where I wait until we’re halfway there to realize I forgot something back home, and it had nothing to do with Husband reminding me 157,000 times to check that I had everything but thanks for asking—because we got turned around when we stopped for lunch.
ME: (repeats GPS)
HIM: So we’re turning around? Fuck.
HIM: Well I’m just wondering how far we have to backtrack.
ME: It didn’t look far…
GPS: In two miles, take exit—
HIM: So just back to the same exit we were at?!
ME: Honey, don’t ask me to explain. I drink, but I don’t know things.
ME: That was good? I did it right?
HIM: You did!
ME: Yay! I Thronesed!
The key to ignoring a phenomenon—as opposed to simply letting pop culture pass you by—is in the selective attempts at addressing it without ever bothering to learn anything about it. I know I make it look easy, but this is an advanced skill.
ME: I’m still fuming about that “she’s a liar” thing.
HIM: I’m sorry.
ME: I just… how did that work?
HIM: (shakes head) He got to them first.
ME: That’s it? That’s all it takes?
ME: Shit, I gotta remember that. Next time I want to totally destroy and discredit someone just start telling people they’re a known liar.
HIM: You should do it at this.
ME: What, at the murder?
ME: … People will know it’s—
HIM: They might not. There’s the thing—I’m pretty sure we don’t all know each other’s characters.
ME: … But who would I do it to? I mean, I don’t want to actually hurt someone’s feelings. Oooh! I could do it to Jake!
HIM: (laughs) Right, but… in order for this to be an experiment—
ME: Right… everyone would say, “Oh, yeah, ‘cuz it’s Jake.***
HIM: You could pick me.
ME: Aww, honey…
HIM: I won’t get mad.
Get you a man who can fix things and will let you call him a damned liar.
This is my advice.
* I’m pretty sure it’s all part of her plan to become the adultiest adult ever. Either that or she’s got something planned for Martha Stewart and as long as the hors d’oeuvres keep flowing I’m not asking questions.
** Husband’s theory is I would have been everyone’s first guess—not entirely unreasonable, given everyone’s justification for lynching me in Werewolf is, “she always wants to be a werewolf!” Which is patently untrue; I always want to be the Tanner. So I can win alone.
*** Jake, by the way, is not a liar. At least, not in ways that matter—not any more than most people, anyway. But he’s sort of known for making deception and hidden role games… interesting. When playing Coup, for example, Jake always has a suspicious number of Dukes for someone who is also an Assassin and a Contessa.