"Dear, you need to MATCH the dominoes," Dad pushed Mom's latest play back off the table. "That's a twelve, this is an eleven. You're off by one dot."
"I told you to bring a paintbrush," Quill remarked.
"I shall now inform Mom of the appropriate domino to play, in a language I call 'Liberal Arts Major'," Nemesis stated dramatically, pausing for effect. "It's BLUE."
"It has a color????" I exclaimed.
"Very funny," Mom replied dryly, squinting across the table. "Uh, what color is that?"
"Gray," Dad replied, as we kids almost fell off our chairs laughing.
"The dog just licked my tile!" Squirrel complained.
"Well, put that rodent on the ground then!" I rolled my eyes.
"You know, I really like playing dominoes. You know why?" Dad asked.
"Why?" Nemesis took the bait.
"It makes me feel better about myself," Dad joked. "Squirrel, PLAY ALREADY."
"I don't like this game." Squirrel grumbled.
"Why?" I demanded. "You're winning."
"I don't like it!" she protested, accidentally matching a tile backwards.
I shrugged. "Then lose!"
"I'm only here for the ice cream. Can I go read until it's served?" Squirrel asked hopefully.
"NO!!!!!!!" we all chorused.
Yes, another Sonnek family tradition: game night, with Mexican Train Dominoes being the game of choice for this night. We USED to be able to get through an entire game in a night, but since we learned that the best part of the game lies in heckling opponents, game play slowed considerably. And when certain people *cough*Squirrel*cough* look at other people's tiles, the game can change considerably.
"Squirrel, don't you dare put a tile there...Squirrel...SQUIRREL!!!!" Dad exclaimed.
Squirrel snickered. "Oops. Oh well, it's played now."
"I'll let you take it back," Dad offered magnanimously.
"Illegal," Quill ruled. "It's your turn now."
"That wasn't really helpful," Dad grumbled, studying the table. "I'm about to revert to a language I call "shop." This is awful." He reached over to scatter Quill's artistically designed extra domino pile. "I need to draw a tile. Shoot...my train's up."
"DAD!!!" Quill complained, attempting to rearrange the pile. "No shop language and stop ruining my design!!"
"Radar has one left," Nemesis pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. Uno," I chuckled. You're supposed to declare when you have one domino left, but we all decided at some point that saying uno was probably the quickest way to go.
"You go out and I'll break your little arm," Dad threatened me jokingly.
"Someone has the double-blank?" Mom inquired. The double-blank meant you scored 30 points when the game went out, and since the goal was to score the least amount of points, it was probably the least desirable tile to go out with. Also, we're pure evil, and if we found out someone had it, we would make every effort to stop him or her from getting rid of it.
"No," Dad lied, fooling no one. "Dear, it's your turn."
"He's going to go out," Nemesis hinted, flexing his biceps. "Can I help break his arm?"
"This game seems to have far more violence than seems warranted," Mom mused.
"Squirrel, get that candy wrapper off your forehead!!" Quill yelled.
"It's a fashion statement," Squirrel explained, nonetheless complying with the demand.
"And don't put it in my POCKETS!!!" Quill and Squirrel commenced a mild shoving match.
"Is this fair?" I demanded, grabbing Nemesis's arm. "He's never been to the gym in his life, and look at this--he's got bigger biceps than I do!! I spent the entire last semester at the gym, and I still look like a twig! Don't get any ideas, though," I added hastily to Nemesis. "I can still kick your butt." That was entirely true, as I was not only a higher rank in Taekwondo than he was, but also much stronger, even though I didn't look it.
"He's got his father's build," Mom complimented both Nemesis and Dad in the same breath.
"That's ENTIRELY unfair," I grumbled.
"Radar, it's your turn. Are you going out?" Dad asked.
"Yepp!" I placed my last domino on the table. "I'm out!"
Dad muttered something under his breath. Squirrel glared at him. "I heard that!"
"Well, it was justified," Dad complained, holding up the double-blank. "This was the next tile I was going to play!"
"You have 58 points," Nemesis noted, doing that spookily accurate instant-adding/counting thing he did in his head with Dad's dominoes.
"I'll count them myself, thanks," Dad grumbled.
"Work on yours, Rainman," I chuckled.
"I'm done. 14," Nemesis retorted.
"I think we need to get ice cream for Squirrel. She's getting impatient," Quill noted dryly.
Squirrel gave Mom puppy-dog eyes.
Mom relented. "Fine, let's dish it out," she conceded.
"YAY!!!" Squirrel almost ran over Quill on her way to the freezer.
"Squirrel's still winning, guys." Mom checked the score sheet.
"How does she DO that?" Quill and I asked at the same time.