Clued in...

I'm tired.
I'm slow to things, I guess.
Last night my loving husband suggested playing a game, to get my mind off of a difficult conversation I'd just had with my mom. (you know the one where I accuse her of planning to look the other way and sweep her health under the rug? The kind where she tells me I am NOT coming down, and I tell her she needs to leave her life in the desert sticks and come here where we have real doctors and I can care for her.)
Anyway, little miss Genny picks Clue.
Oye...
It's been so long since I've dealt with kids the age of genny. Are they all as dumb as a bag of bricks, from time to time, or is it just her?
And I don't mean this as harshly as it sounds- but the girl is about as quick as a stampede of turtles in extra sticky peanut butter...

Example: She makes a guess that it's Miss Scarlet, with the Knife in the Kitchen. Now, I've already shown her the knife card THREE TIMES, and her dad has already shown her the Kitchen card TWICE. She holds Miss Scarlet...
Yup.

And despite us telling her, she leaves her little clue card open.
All. the. time.

Oh. AND, when she speculates a characters guilt- like Col. Mustard (whom she believes, with passionate arguing, is Cole Mustard) and you show her the card, (again) she says "so it's not him." outloud.

She's a dim bulb when it comes to Hasbro, I guess.

The very best, however, what when I made my guess and no one could prove me wrong- this solving the game. She jumps up, screams out loud- with complete amazement on her face: "Oh my gosh! I know it! It's...."
hmmm... you think?

Her daddy, he's not too far to the back of the turtle herd though, and here is why: God love him, two different times he gave a "guess" scenario, in an effort to rule out certain elements, by naming only cards he had in his hand...
Smooth. Have I mentioned he wants to go to Vegas for his birthday? Think they'll have tougher things that Clue?

Then there's me.
The quick one.
Last year, eons ago, a book club friend (back in the Michigan days) encouraged me to buy Twilight. Despite purchasing a copy, I don't think I ever intended to read it. Something about it being written for YOUNGER readers, and I don't know... It just wasn't the kind of thing I read. This was confirmed in November when Rabekah borrowed my book. It took her quite a bit of time to read it. She started with "it's slow" and ended with "it's taking forever for her to find out he's a vampire!" All in all she said it was very high school, and she wasn't rushing out to read the other books in the series. She, however, ripped my book and bought me a brand new one- though assured her I'd never read it, so she shouldn't have.
But I shelved it, because she bought it. I sort of contractually obligated myself to read it, someday.

Bedtime came, last night, and my mind wouldn't stop. worry about my mom came up and I knew I needed something to numb my mind. I needed something outlandish. Twilight was probably the most absurd book on my shelf, so I picked it up and cracked the cover.

Perhaps it was my heightened emotional state. I don't know.
I laughed, i cried. I sighed. I "ohhh'd" and "ahhh'd"
On several occasions I covered my mouth with the back of my hand, even more times that the beating of my heart quickened and finally at two thirty my back had given up. I moved out to the couch and read that book.
All 498 pages of it.
When Chw woke up at 5:30, he seemed worried that I'd woken up before him. He glanced at my page count (388 at that point) and asked, angrily, if I'd gone to bed.
Nope.
He was upset. He set about his tasks and I began telling him this amazing story.
This is when the magic of Edward Cullen touched my own life. My husband, who doesn't like to read, like books or care about anything I've EVER read, was mesmerized.
He began asking questions. A lot of them.
I thought he'd be late for work.

So yeah, apparently I'm not too quick either. This Twilight crazed trend has swept the world long before now, and I am dangerously late to the scene.
But at least I showed up...