My buddy A– turns thirty four, so he invites us out somewhere for drinks on a Friday night. Friday night is playing video games on the computer night, so I decline and suggest instead we just hang out at the game shop like we normally do.
–Whatever, he says, you’re worse than my elderly parents. I’ll see you at six.
So we’re at the game shop and J– and I decide to get A– a present, but we don’t know what. A– is the kind of guy who builds multiple armies and spreads himself thin trying to customize each model and paint them all up at the same time.
What better way to say, hey we’re not drinking together, than a toy soldier?
I mean, this is totally better than going to some dance club/ bar/ disco inferno, right?
Of course it is. And then A– shows up.
He gets his mini (our geek shorthand for miniature soldier) and he looks happy. At any normal party he’d have a drink in his hand, maybe some cake (definitely some cake if it were my birthday) and maybe some chips, but instead he’s spending his birthday rolling dice with a cave full of geeks and everything seems okay with the world.
Okay, that is, until our budget stripper shows up to the party. But then I guess it wouldn’t be a party without them.
