JackTales

There I was, minding my own business…

Okay, so I was married to my ex-wife, forthwith referred to as the PBFH (Psycho Bitch From Hell). Let’s start by saying that there was a significant difference in our age, my being younger, and she being insanely jealous.

That being said, one day she wanted me to go with her to meet some friends of hers from work. They lived out in the country, and had a trampoline and stuff the step-kids could keep themselves busy with.

There were two couples there, with kids of their own. All the kids went farting around the house with the trampoline, then motorbikes, and other stuff. The other couples were nice, very happy people, having already drunk a great deal of wine before we got there. We had a nice dinner, and a few too many glasses of wine ourselves. The kids, meanwhile, had gone with the other couples’ kids down to another kids’ house, and wouldn’t be back for several hours.

After dinner, one of the women there suggested a game of ‘Pass The Plate.” I’m the first to admit to ignorance, but neither the PBFH nor I had any idea of what “Pass The Plate” was.

One of the women brought out a dinner plate. Not the kind of thing that would survive being dropped. Of course, how could you possibly drop it?

Each woman was placed behind a man other than their significant others. You picturing this yet? Each woman was behind a man other than their spouses.

The idea behind “Pass The Plate” was for each woman to stick their hands down the pockets of the man in front of them, and to pass the plate sideways to the other couple. Once at the end, the plate would come the other way, and the men would go behind the women and do the same. This would be done until someone dropped the plate. It was a game of attrition. The last couple having not dropped the plate would be the winner.

Bottom line was for each couple to fondle each other through their pockets as they passed the plate. Not mentioning that particular point, it wasn’t too hard to draw the conclusion myself.

Well, here’s where I started to panic. PBFH didn’t worry me, she had her own man to contend with. Can’t point fingers when you’ve been doing the same thing. The problem was that I was wearing old jeans, with the pockets worn clean through, and I went “camo.” This means no underwear for you boys and girls.

I’m not going to go into the obvious details here, but I will say that seemed like one of the longest party games I’ve ever played. That plate seemed to be in front of me for a long, long time.

Of course, I hated every minute of it. ::: cough ::: So did the woman behind me, because she jiggled that plate as long as she could. I’m sure she was just hesitant to drop the plate. And it’s damned hard to grip a plate when someone has wood behind it pushing it out away from your hands.

It was a long, long game. Did I mention that? You can draw your own conclusions about how the rest of the game, er, played out.

So next time you and your adult couples friends decide to hang out and try to think of a party game, I’d suggest this one. Presuming you weren’t going to face death from your significant other afterwards.

That’s my story and I’m sort of sticking to it.