Every year on New Year’s Day, we host the Incredible Day of Games. We’ve been doing it for six years: we make pizzas for everyone and throw open our massive cabinets of board games, party games, and puzzles.
For instance, there’s a game called Pandemic, which is a cooperative game, where all the players work as epidemiologists, attempting to head off outbreaks of contagious diseases all over the world. Sometimes you can handily contain the infections and find the cures in time; sometimes the diseases multiply so fast you can barely formulate a strategy for dealing with them, and the team goes down to ignominious defeat.
This year, tragically, the game came to life in a variation called Pandemic: Everyone Gets Norovirus. And we lost. We all lost.
When I started to feel nauseous on Sunday night, I wasn’t too concerned. I’m eight months pregnant and everything in there is weird. But then there was that explosive vomiting at midnight. And then in the morning, the assorted tweets and email mentions from friends of “stomach flu” and “food poisoning.” It quickly dawned on us that something terrible had come into our home and wreaked havoc.
Now that I’m back on my feet, I spent yesterday afternoon bleaching my kitchen and cleaning off all the doorknobs with antibacterial wipes. Nevertheless, it’ll be a little while before I fully recover from the trauma of having cheerfully hosted a massive disease outbreak.
Next year: more pizzas, less norovirus. I promise.