Earlier this week Myrtle invited me over to partake in her Christmas ritual of watching Die Hard and wrapping gifts. I brought Vietnamese food, which came with fortune cookies.
My fortune cookie insert read, "A bargain is not a bargain unless you can use the product." I wonder if the rule applies to a torn not-a-fortune.
Myrtle's insert read, "It is now, and in this world, that we must live."
Hmmm...neither of these qualify as actual fortunes. We were disappointed. I posted a photo of our not-a-fortunes on Facebook and Twitter with the caption, "We want new not-a-fortunes." Yet we settled in for some younger Bruce Willis action movie and present wrapping fun. A couple of hours later, Myrtle showed me a gift she purchased for her niece:
That's right, M.A.S.H., the classic pencil and paper game best friends use to predict their futures! If you've never played it, the gist is that you can predict who you'll marry, what your occupation will be, how many children you will (or will not) have, and other future events. M.A.S.H. (so titled for Mansion Apartment Shack House - your dwelling options) was popular when we were in junior high, but that didn't stop us from playing in college, and we're kicking ourselves for not having come up with this handy notepad, which is surely a bestseller!
Now, if you look closely you'll see a category or two that may not be appropriate for tweens. Upon closer inspection, Myrtle decided against giving her niece a gift that requires her to choose her cause of death and contemplate how many times per week she'll have sex in the future. What did that mean for us? That's right: gift wrapping and Die Hard just got put on the back burner. Cue squeals of glee from yours truly!
As M.A.S.H. is certainly a fortune teller of sorts, I'm sure you want to know what Myrtle and I learned about our lives. I won't tell you everything, but here are the highlights:
Myrtle will live in a mansion in NYC; drive a Jaguar (who drives Jaguars anymore? ooh, maybe it's the animal instead of the vehicle); and, paradoxically, be a richy rich academic (income: "too rich to care whether I get tax breaks"). She will not be married, will never have kids - even step-children - yet will somehow end up with Jon Stewart (the part she was most excited about, I'm sure). Also: she will die of boredom.
I will also live in NYC, but in an apartment (possibly one in Myrtle's mansion, as I will be merely a teacher). I will drive a red convertible, which is a goal of mine, though I question the logistics of this in the city. The most important parts of my M.A.S.H., in my opinion, are that I'm not marrying Ryan Reynolds (or Paul Rudd), my occupation will not be "not camper," I will have a pet jellyfish, and I will die as a result of an injury sustained during sex and involving chocolate syrup (important note: I'm allergic to chocolate).
BEST. MONDAY. NIGHT. EVER.