Family Game Night
by Angel Brown
Part One: The Exploding Casserole Dish
I can still remember how the sky seemed to scoop down and form a magic carpet for me to glide away upon. The only problem was the carpet was laughing at me, too. That night just wasn’t my night.
For some reason I had this bright idea to invite my family, the family that acts like they have just been released from the loony bin, over for a family game night. I knew someone would become the butt of all jokes for the night, but I had no idea my turn was long overdue. Everything went well as planned, until dinner time arrived.
I was cooking a chicken casserole, one I had cooked many times before, for supper. Before my experience that night, I always boasted on myself for being a good cook. That is something I do no longer. When the chicken casserole was done, I took the brown glass casserole dish it was in out of the oven and placed it on top of the stove.
It was at the end of April and just starting to get hot, so I headed toward the bedroom to turn the air on. On my way back to the kitchen I heard a loud boom, almost like a gun shot going off.
All kinds of scenes were running through my head as I dashed into the kitchen. Once I got there, what I saw was so unexpected I hardly believed my own eyes. The flowers on my wallpaper were decorated with bits of chicken and rice. Brown pieces of glass lay sleeping on the floor. Under my feet, I felt a hot gooey glob of my scrumptious dinner. And as I stood there thinking how glad I was no one was around, everyone came in the kitchen just as a chunk of chicken hit me on the head.
Part Two: The Splitting of the Pants
After the glare of embarrassment faded a little, I decided to play it off like nothing happened. I should have known my family wasn’t going to let me off that easy. So after everyone made their jokes and died laughing, we went outside to play kickball.
I probably don’t have to tell you what happened, but I will anyway. It was my turn to kick. I imagined myself kicking the ball so hard no one would be able to find it. Then we could go inside and play a game I’m actually good at, like Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. So I kicked with all my might and then some. I knew I had over done it just a little when I heard a noise that sounded like the tearing of fibers from my favorite pair of pants.
To this day my family can’t have a get together without reminiscing about my now infamous chicken casserole or my notorious game of kickball. And when they do, I reminisce about why I didn’t hop on the magic carpet anyway. In my defense, I really do make a fabulous chicken casserole with the right cooking equipment.