Correction: HE BROUGHT HOME TWO.
Now, let me assure you that this was all based on a very logical plan that was presented to me, often late at night while I was asleep, and when he would push my lips around with his finger to force an inaudible, agreeing grunt.
Before he brought them home, he called me from the store to get the final okay. I heard some intermittent beeping coming from his end of the line, so I assume he retained a lawyer just in case. I relented. The late nights and regretful utterances were coming back to me now and I felt compelled to trust his judgment. Plus, lawyers are dodgy. Just watch Breaking Bad.
And besides, I'd told myself, we'd already agreed not to let the kids know what the contraptions are. Plus One would live in a neverending land of PLEAD and SCREAM if he knew A GAME! A GAME! A GAME! was perpetually resting next to the cable box for him to TRY IT! TRY IT! CAN I TRY IT!?
"Just bring home a game that you and I can play, maybe. This can be a compromise for my yearning for iPhone Mancala matches."
"Sure, sounds good."
When he came home, over budget and overflowing with bags, one of the first things he said as I started peeking around was, "I might be in trouble with my game choices."
So now, as if my life and sanity depends on it (because, let's face it: IT DOES) my mission is Operation KEEP GAME HIDDEN until the child is 10 or so years old. That's about seven years from now. Doing the math in my head, I'm realizing that seven years is roughly six times the length I've ever maintained ANYTHING.
This should go pretty smoothly, I'm guessing.