Chaos Theory

Yesterday, after Large Fry got home from school, she spread out her small deck (by "small," I mean that it would take two cards, side by side, to almost equal the size of a standard playing card) of Old Maid cards, face down on the coffee table.

She happily bubbled that I would be playing with her.  She said something about making matches and that we had to look at two and find a match, and she would go first.  Then it would be my turn.  And it seemed whoever had the most matched pairs won.  But Large's instructions on how to "play" the game were a bit...garbled.

Apparently, this game was something of a cross between Memory and Old Maid.

I think.

She took several turns (I think) before patting my knee and saying, "Mommy, it's your turn!"

I turned over two cards and didn't have a match, so I placed them back on the coffee table, face down.

Large took her turn(s), and then it was my turn again.

No luck for Mommy...still no match this time.

At my next turn, surprise, surprise!  I found a match!

My glee was short-lived, because not two minutes later, my matched pair was missing.

"Hey!  Where did my cards go?"

Large Fry giggled.  "I took them!"

"Why do you get my cards?"

"'Cause that's how the game is played!" she crowed.

"That's not right.  Why can't I keep my cards?"

"Because I get them.  That's how it's played!"

Okay then.

I once listed my qualifications as a great babysitter, and one of them was the ability to lose convincingly at CandyLand with the best of 'em.  I can lose at this game too.  (Doesn't appear that I have much choice.)

That's when I noticed that Large would turn over pairs of cards until she got at least one match.

Two turns later, I got another match, and fought to keep it.

I lost.

With a great deal of glee on the part of Large Fry, I might add.

It would seem that playing Old Maid/Memory is sort of like, well, Calvinball.