What's that? You don't believe me? You're thinking to yourself, "But Twister is a game made for kids. How could it be dangerous?"
Let me tell you the tale of an incredibly handsome Dad who, despite having the flexibility of an aluminum softball bat, thought playing Twister with his daughters was a good idea.
It was a dark and stormy night and I had to find a way to keep the girls entertained. They were tired of sitting on the couch watching me watch SportsCenter—which I didn't understand because that sounds like a very fun thing to do. So I decided to check the hallway closet, which is filled with coloring books, sticker bags and a dust-covered metal structure that my wife commonly refers to as a "vacuum cleaner." The top shelf is dedicated to games and that's the only thing that had captured my girls' interest.
When they first asked me to play Twister, I thought, Sure! Sounds Fun! After all, my childhood memories of the game were positive. I remember a time when I was young and could reach right foot red, left foot blue, right hand yellow and left hand green. I'd twist myself into a pretzel and, after winning, I'd chug a purple-flavored Little Hug fruit barrel in celebration. It was spectacular.
Now I know it'd been a few years since I'd played, but I thought I was still qualified to compete based on this criteria:
Likes games? Check!
Knows the difference between my right hand and my left hand? Check and Check!
After explaining the rules, the girls and I were ready to play. We designated my wife as the official spinner and DJ. She appreciated this because, while she wouldn't say it, she was certainly afraid of losing to me. Or of me copping a feel. Or probably both.
"RIGHT FOOT YELLOW!"
Two of the three of us successfully placed our right feet on yellow. The other, and I'm not mentioning any names, decided to dance instead.2
"RIGHT HAND BLUE!"
My hand moved over to blue. Just like the good old days, I was proving my Twister dominance. This was easy.
"LEFT HAND YELLOW"
This would be the last call of the game. It may have had something to do with my knee making a loud popping sound. It may have had something to do with my wife checking Facebook on her phone and forgetting that she was the DJ. Though the real reason we stopped the game was because only one of us was still playing Twister. The other two were playing "Let's Ride Dad Like a Horse." This game, as I've learned, is a subset game of Twister where the kids kick, poke, strangle, elbow, claw and bite their way to the top of you and then demand you prance around the house and deliver them to other rooms. Now I don't remember this part of the game from my childhood, but my wife, who broke from her Facebook voyeurism to laugh at my pain, said it was "most definitely part of the rules." She also asked the girls to ride me into the kitchen and get her a sandwich.
And that, my friends, is why you need to stay away from Twister. Or at least come equipped with a saddle and kneepads. Otherwise you'll spend days limping around the office, having to explain to coworkers that you hurt yourself on the craziest sexcapade weekend of your life.3 Other Dads will limp over to you and give high fives in support. They will whisper to you.
"Oh yeah. But it wasn't all bad."
Unfortunately I didn't have purple-flavored Little Hug fruit barrel to help me celebrate.4
1 I think being beer-league softball player qualifies me as "athletic." It also qualifies me as "awesome."
2 Spontaneous dancing is a common side effect of playing games at Klems Manor. Other side effects include excessive rock-bumping and making animal noises.
3 No one will believe this, but most will at least admire your lie.
4 Are you crazy? I'm an adult now. I celebrate with double shots of Vodka.
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