K has many wonderful traits but one of his less endearing ones is that, to put it mildly, he is a bad loser. One hint of being the underdog he'll roll out the grumps faster than you can mutter 'don't play then'.
The game of choice was kids' Monopoly. An easy game of chance with a bit of counting and a temperamental cash machine that either dispenses a single £1 or its entire contents.
Ignoring the 'it's not fair', 'everyone is lucky except me', 'I NEVER win' etc we carry on with grim cheery determination as W & dad win every square on the board between them and begin a property empire while K & I have £5 and one bad attitude to our name.
When K lands again on one of W's swanky hotels and duly hands over his last £5, W helpfully points out that it does include breakfast.
S, K and I all end up in prison (if the game had gone on much longer there's every chance life would have imitated art) and W also landed on the square but 'just visiting'. He said he'd brought some of the leftover muffins from one of his hotel breakfasts. Thoughtful boy.
We roll on. S loses patience, not the card game though, and I point out that the only way we'll improve matters is with exposure therapy. The only cure for bad losing may be to play more and more games of chance until you realise the odds are roughly 50/50 and it's fun anyway.
Looking forward to next Sunday evening already ...
