Mother Knows Best

I am in the process of inventing a new board game which, once Grand Theft Auto #103 has run its course, will take the country by storm. It's called "Guilt, the Fun Game Mothers Play with their Daughters," to be advertised as "You'll always be my baby."

I envision the playing field to be drawn in the shape of a giant uterus, with long, apronstring-like fallopian tubes snaking out from either side. In the middle of the organ is a great pulsating heart, on which is emblazoned in tremulous gold, "All I want is for you to be happy."

There are about ninety spaces marked off on the board, the starter labeled "womb" and the final stop, "tomb." The object of the game for the mother is to get all the way to the finale while never allowing the daughter to advance further than square twelve. In certain circumstances, Mother can even continue to dominate the game from beyond the grave.

Daughter's only objective is survival. There is no escape.

Mother always starts her token on at least square twenty and, of course, rolls the bones first. After taking as many steps as the dice have designated, she passes to Daughter--if she feels like it.

Daughter starts at "womb" and passes through such juvenile guilt squares as "Where did you learn THAT word," "What do you and your friends talk about when you close your door" and "Why do you find hidden meanings in everything I say?"

When daughter reaches square thirty, Mother redoubles her efforts, drawing a pink card which enables her to ask:
1. "Why are your children sick all the time?" (Ten extra points)
2. "Why isn't your garage as clean as your neighbor's?" (Ten extra points)
3. "Why are you so defensive?" (Jackpot--twenty-five bonus points)

On the other hand, any pink cards Daughter draws return her square twelve, minus the number of points Mother would have gained from the same card. Thus it is possible for Daughter to accumulate a negative score and dissolve to nothingness.

Yellow cards enable the mother to change the rules in any way at any time without the least notice, which is why all the yellow cards the daughter draws are automatically forfeit to Mother.

I have also thought about tokens for the players. A crystal teardrop seems appropriate for the mother player. The daughter, of course, doesn't need one--she isn't going anywhere.

The beauty of this game is that it uses familiar, everyday materials, is easily transportable, and has universal application. The daughter becomes more inept with every round as the mother increases her skill to a fine art. A seasoned motherplayer can get a special charge out of watching a daughter player work herself up to thirty or forty, then tumbling her back to twelve with one master motherstroke.

I'll give you an example:

"That's an awful lot of money to pay for a new transmission," my mother said in a suspicious tone of voice when I told her about the car repairs.

I started stewing. Was she right? Had I been taken? Could I have gotten a better deal somewhere else? I felt completely inadequate to a situation I had been handling with perfect confidence one hour earlier.

Twenty-five points! My mother doesn't even know how to drive!