"If I have to tell you to stop looking at your card before you flip it one more time this game is over, got it?"
"Who made you the War police?" Emma grumbles.
"It's not fair," I counter. "We should both see the cards for the first time together."
"Are you going to cry about it a little bit more? I don't think you've shed enough tears on your new couch."
Sassy little mouth.
"You know, I have a perfectly good book waiting on my nightstand for me, I don't mind tossing my cards in the air and leaving you to play by yourself."
Emma sits back. Her legs are crossed on the couch and she eyes me up and down. "Oh, I get what's happening here."
"What's happening?"
"Mm-hmm, act all innocent in your thin plaid pants and stupid tight-fitting shirt. I'm onto you, Brock."
"Yeah? What are you onto?"
She waves her finger up and down my body. "You're causing a scene."
"I'm not causing a scene, I just want the card flipping to be fair."
"Oh, you're causing a scene. Classic Colby Brock game technique; cause a scene and storm off so no definitive winner can be named."
"What? Are you drunk?"
Leaning forward over the playing area, she points her finger at me and asks, "Are you drunk? Is that part of your scene technique? What's going to happen next, you shuck your pants, pee in the corner, and then start running around the house, your hands cupping your dong while you do sumo squats up the stairs?"
"I would never pee in the corner." I shake my head. "If I were to shuck my pants and pee somewhere, it would be in your dresser drawers, just to fuck with you."
"You wouldn't," she playfully seethes.
"Oh, I fucking would. I would pee so hard in your drawers."
"You can't make yourself pee hard, only girls can."
"Untrue." I'm trying very hard not to laugh from this ridiculous conversation. "I just push harder, therefore I pee harder."
"Yeah, more like dribble like a leaky faucet."
"I don't think it's wise for you to question my stream. You have some late nights in the library, you don't want to come home to wet sheets one night, now do you?"
"Are you trying to tell me you want to pee in my bed?" She sets her cards down now and crosses her arms over her purple-pajama-clad chest.
"It's not like it wouldn't already be used to being peed on."
Sitting up on her knees now, looking ready to pounce, she asks, "Are you, Colby Brock, calling me a bed wetter?"
I set my cards down as well, preparing myself for whatever wryly move she's going to make. "I might be; what are you going to do about it?"
Just when I think she's about to answer, she hops off the couch and runs up the stairs to my bedroom. What the fuck? Is she going to go pee on my bed to prove a point? And is she going to pee hard? Oh, Jesus.
Stumbling for a second, I gain my balance and charge up the stairs. I turn the corner to my bedroom when—
"Grrrrrrawwwwwllll!" Emma pops out from a closet with her claws out and a snarly look on her face. Not expecting her to go all psycho bobcat on me, I jump about a foot in the air and let out a less-than manly version of a yip, causing Emma to buckle over in laughter. "Oh my God, the look on your face." She tries to impersonate me, her face contorting, making an enormous amount of double chins, hands shaking in the air, and a girly scream coming out of her mouth. When she's done, she laughs some more.
