Yesterday was the annual horseshoe tournament. I took Togers and Mr M with me this year because that is what a good father does - takes his young impressionable kids to a kegger.
Like last year, there were a lot of teams. Like last year, my team was eliminated about halfway through. Like last year, there was a lot of alcohol consumed by the attendees (I believe it was four kegs and a gallon and a half of Jägermeister this time). And like last year, I was the beer bitch because nobody else was sober enough to drive.
All it took for Togers to become the biggest social butterfly of the entire party was for him to hit a ringer. Being the youngest participant, everybody cheered him on. It must've gone to his head because after the match was over he went around introducing himself to everyone for the rest of the night. He even started talking smack to some of his future opponents.
Togers (to probably the biggest guy at the party): What's your team name?
The Big Guy: [Team Name]
Togers: I think we take you on next. We'll probably win. [Walks away]
The Big Guy (to me): Wait! Did that little bastard just talk shit to me? I think he did.
Me: I think you're right.
The Big Guy: I'm going to push him down the hill the next time he walks by.
Me: You've got my blessing.
A few minutes later:
The Big Guy: Great! Now he's in my head. I'll probably throw a shoe and hit the house.
Mr M learned a few things while he was there. Some people taught him and a neighbor girl how to play ping pong. He told me that he can't wait until he's bigger so that he can be better at playing that. Later, he ended up shooting baskets with a couple of guys. I went over to shoot around with him too. We'd take turns, and after a few rounds he shot the ball, missed, then said, "Douchebag!"
I suppose I ought to stop using that word so much. Either that, or Mr M needs to learn how to use it in context.
I could go on and on, like telling about the girl who got too drunk too early, and the guy who tried to wrap her up in saran wrap to prevent her from vomiting on herself only to have someone else get protective of her and douse that guy with the hose. Or I could tell you about the guy who stumbled his way out of the house and fell into the middle of a very spiny desert plant. But I won't (mostly because I didn't get pictures).
All in all, it wasn't as fun as last year's tournament, but it still beat going to the office on a Saturday.