So my husband does this funny thing when he gets around other guys. Maybe yours does it to? He starts to act like King Shit, getting all cocky saying things like “Woman! Make me a sammich!” and “Why don’t you just take care of that, sweet thing.” I do give him a little leeway since I know he is entirely kidding and much of the time at home, poor Bill ends up being the punching bag. A little once in a while flare up and release of testosterone is good for any man. Last vacation though, I drew the line. On the first full day I came out of the cabin, ready to hand over Keaton and the asshole grabbed his drink off the picnic table and said to The Deputy Chief Fire Idiot, “Quick! Run! Here comes Old Lady Gunter!”
Old Lady Gunter did not find this amusing and had a talk with her husband. From that point on Bill reeled in his manly quips but he still needed an outlet, a way to let off the steam he had been holding in all year. Thus, Challenges were born. The challenge is a competition of sorts that pits one person or one team against the other, usually involving a heavy dose of public embarrassment of one kind or another and always precursed by a fair amount of ones alcoholic drink of choice. For instance that first year we kept it fairly simple. The first challenge was a mini-golf tournament. Bill was the loser* so he had to jump off the end of our dock, into the very mucky, densly weed-infested waters that probably housed a family of shrieking eels.
The next challenge was a shuffleboard tourney that resulted in The Deputy Chief Fire Idiot diving into the pool while the entirety of the resort was gathered around it for family bingo night. He yelled out “Chicken WING!”** before the dive and was so flustered that he went ahead and swam until he crashed nose-first into the opposite wall of the pool. This is what testosterone and alcohol does to you, kids. Just Say No.
So, if I may, I will present to you the three challenges that were born and executed on Cabin Vacation Oh Niner. If you are having trouble following along I’ve included pictures of all acts of idiocy.
Challenge The First: The Grand Yaksman.
We played a ladder ball tournament in which Bill and I very successfully whooped Snoreface/Vince and DCFI/Emily (who may have mentioned somewhere around dusk and her eighth or ninth consecutive miss (unless you count the tree above the ladder!) that she maybe didn’t really see so much AT ALL without her glasses. The DCFI was displeased.) Either way WE WON SUCKERS and the two losing teams headed to the beach, in the dark, where the Kayak obstacle course was set up. The men had to Kayak (kayak=those hollow plastic things whose existence resides somewhere between a hollowed out log and a beach floaty) out and around the raft and back, tag their female counterpart who then had to take a shot (a John Daly) run to the cabin and maybe do a little turn or dance or something. I’m a little fuzzy on the last part.
And they're off. Don't let this picture fool you. The Dep was so gung-ho that he flew past Vince, who couldn't stop laughing, in a blur.
And came out looking like this. Kayak's have holes and stuff. It's all a part of the miracle of floaty things. Or maybe just to make everybody walk around with wet asses.
The Felland women are nothing if not proficient takers of shots.
Sometime that night The Deputy Chief Fire Idiot misplaced his sunglasses and nary an eye could sight them for the entirety of the trip. He found them in the pocket of those shorts up there after he got home.
Challenge The Second: Spoons and Peanuts. Separate and together.
The next challenge was a Spoons tourney and if you don’t play this game you should, but beware. Snoreface once lost a fingernail playing and she hasn’t been quite the same ever since. After many rounds and a few too many drinks I somehow became the ultimate winner of spoons by beating out Vince who is like a professional winner of any game he plays (except ladder ball, rock/paper/scissors, and HA! Spoons). I didn’t even have to do my own gloating because Snoreface was just so thrilled he had been thwarted from winning that she went ahead and did it for me.
As the (Ultimate!) (Awesomest!) winner, I was exempt from putting the end of a spoon in between my teeth, the other end of which was carrying a shelled peanut which needed to lay safely on the spoon while the losers had to weave between 3 coolers, go down the dock and back,weave back through the coolers and do a couple fancy little turns. And because I’m a sore winner I took pictures of all of them with the sole purpose of posting them on my blog.
Jen's form was excellent but her technique was faulty. Remember: teeth, not lips.
Next up, Billy Boy. Or as I like to call him "That Asshole Whose Legs Never Gain ANY Fat".
Go Snoreface, GO!
The Deps was a little too confident after his yaksman victory but pulled in a respectable time.
Not to be put in the corner by us young whipper snappers, Mom shows us what she's got. But the winner was...
Huh? Emily just walked down from Upstairs and put everybody in their place with a time of I Can't Remember:Was Drunk:And .032 seconds.
Challenge The Last: (Stolen From a Toddler) Tractor Races
OK. This was Thursday night, what we knew would be our last big whoop-it-up night of vacation. So The Mallinger’s, Snoreface and Vince and Bill and I did it up right by trying to drink everything we had so we didn’t have to lug it back to the cities. We is smrt. The night started out innocently enough with a couples game of rummy 500 but the end sorta looked like this:
I'm not sure if it was the sitting or the punching but I'm pretty sure neither of these two sisters will ever play Twister with me again. Whatever. And I WON. Perhaps not Fair but certainly Square (on Snorefaces lap and Jen's arm).
Really I’m pretty hazy on what the actual challenge was since we were pretty far gone when inspiration came, but I know that (punching!) Twister was involved and the two mates of the losers had to race these bad ass mothers down the hall:
Why yes I did take the tractors I bought my son and turn them into bad-ass vessels of alcohol powered vroominess. Am good mother.
And the winner is...
Not this guy. Congratulations, Vince. You found your game.
So from there the night deteriorated with us girls losing our shit laughing at the literal video version of Total Eclipse of the Heart and Team Mallinger serenading us with a 13 minute duet of some Meatloaf song only people born in the early 70’s are privy to. So yeah, best night ever. Especially that part where I punched people.
You’ll be thankful to know we are done with Challenges until the year Next, and hopefully one or two or all of us will grow some brains by then, But! I’m betting on not as we are all charged with looking for The Most Perfect Hat of Shame for next year which must be worn in public places by the losers of challenges. Again with the smrts. And apologies if you actually made it to the end of this post.
*The male team member always must take the fall for the team. Unless it involves drinking. Then any Felland woman will happily take the bullet.
**This is a short but really stupid story. Ask Bill about it sometime!
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