random thoughts – Day 1,377 – (Sunday) – Christmas mystery date

Christmas Eve delivered a homeowner’s mini-miracle. The basement was no longer taking in water from the wall/floor area of the side closest to the brook and furthest from the sump pump. The water flowing directly into the pump was entering at a much slower rate and lower volume. Christmas was saved.

The day included a stop at Dad’s for a quick visit to drop off a gift and some baked goods, then a swing by Mom’s to pick her up before heading to my sister’s for the family annual feasting festivity. We sat around and laughed and ate sandwiches, chips, pickles, kielbasa, macaroni and cheese, baked goods, and candies.

"Mystery Date!"

The TV played a video fireplace and it was amusing to us humans when one of the family cats appeared to be watching the fire. Later, the cozy fire was exchanged for Chevy Chase and Christmas Vacation.

We played the 1965 hit board game “Mystery Date.” I had it as a kid, and my sister gave me a special edition last year for Christmas. It took almost as long as a game of “Monopoly” until we changed the rules to get it done. If you aren’t familiar with the game, you move your little game piece, dressed in a 1960s housecoat, around the board and draw cards to build outfits to possibly go on a date. It takes three cards to build a very 1965 outfit for a beach, bowling, skiing, or a formal dance date. 

There are a lot of “ifs” involved in “Mystery Date.” If you have three cards to complete an outfit, and if you land on the block that says “Open the Door?” you can lay down your outfit cards, spin the doorknob, and open the door to reveal your “Mystery Date.” If the date behind the door corresponds to the outfit shown on your cards, you win. If not, keep trying.  

1965 "Mystery Date" Dud.

If you open the door to “The Dud” you lose your three outfit cards and have to start building a three-piece outfit again. The funniest part of the 1965 “Dud” is that he doesn’t look much different than the average guy seen in the wild today. The bowler showed up so often on all of the door openings (but never the few times that one of us had a bowling outfit prepared) that we began referring to him as “The Stalker.” 

We spent a lot of time with our little outfit cards assembled, waiting and hoping to go on a date, which felt a lot like my entire time in high school and much of my time in college. Even when there was a date planned, usually the guy didn't show up, which had (has?) me feeling like the Dud in the real-world version of the game.