I first understood the importance of making vast sums of money through real estate, not by watching my parents accumulate great wealth, but by playing Monopoly with my little brother. Sadly, I never took those capitalistic lessons and actually used them in the real world to get rich. I was too busy being a pom pom girl, deciding whether to use blue or green eye shadow, and hoping for a date to a school dance, stuff that has really served me well in my advancing years.
Anyway, I still remember how excited I was when I could buy both those dazzling blue properties of Boardwalk and Park Place. Sure I might lose them with a roll of the dice, but at least I got to call them mine for awhile, maybe even throw on a little red house or green apartment.
Monopoly is a long game. You could start one game at the first snow fall and finish as the trees began to bud, or so it seemed. Picking your game piece was always of utmost importance. I never picked the iron.
I always chose the sweet little dog. If it was already taken, I took the shoe or the top hat. The shoe looked snazzy, and the top hat fun. I never wanted the car which looked as if it required maintenance. The ship seemed too big and bulky to cruise around the board. The wheel barrow looked heavy, and don't even get me started on the thimble. I've donated shirts before sewing back on a button.
No surprise the iron was shelved. Who irons? I remember going to my best friend Gloria's house and her mother would be standing at the ironing board, television on, can of spray starch by her side, ironing Gloria's father's dress shirts. She did a good job, too. My mom lucked out as my dad worked in a factory and didn't require a pressed shirt. Maybe ironing is a lost art, but I don't hear of a lot of women mourning its demise. Instead people are spending time with their cats!
This pretty feline replaced the tired old iron. And what person wouldn't rather be sitting with a cat purring in his or her lap instead of slaving over a hot iron? Frankly, I'm surprised that people even play board games anymore. By the way, who exactly was this little man on the Monopoly box? He looked as if he was a banker. I always felt as if he owned the game and he was just letting me play with it for awhile. Either that or he looked like the ringmaster on Bozo Circus.
Anyway, I haven't played Monopoly in years, and I don't even own the game. (I had to look in my closet to check. I do have Scrabble.) But I am thinking of designing a new game. It will be called:
Mystery Date for Seniors.
Instead of the surfer, or the bowler, or the skier, or the guy in the tux, or even the cute messy guy, behind the door, there will be just one man. He will be middle age, have all his hair, all his teeth, a solid retirement and health insurance plan, no nasty ex wife or troublesome children, no drinking problem or nasty gambling habit, and he laughs at all your jokes and picks up the tab when he takes you to dinner.
I think a lot of single gals of a certain age would be happy to find that man behind the mystery door. Maybe there is still time to make my fortune!