chuck is looking for a clearance deck umbrella, i'm lagging along. something catches his attention and we're both pulled to electronics and there, locked behind bullet-proof glass, is the wii.
these have been billed as hard to find. chuck had checked amazon and sought the anecdotes of wii owners. urban legend said a store like target would get, like, 16. and they would be gone in minutes. but here are two, one turn of the kii away from us.
we look at the wii.
we look at each other.
"should we get it?" chuck asks.
a guy in a red shirt and khaki pants hands us a wii and an extra controller and rings it up.
"are you excited?" the target employee asks.
"do you have one?" i ask.
"no ..." he says. "i could have gotten one when they first came out, but ... well, i don't really have time for it."
"really?" i say. "because i have all. the. time. in the world."
walking out of the store, i turn to chuck and say: we just rendered all of our other purchases pointless."what do you mean?" he says.
"well, like i'm going to need to ever brush my teeth again," i say.
"i'm going to need these flip flops for when the living room is covered with orange crush and cheese popcorn."
we create miis. we bowl and golf and play tennis. when i have to go to the bathroom, i tell him i have "to pii." when i come back in the room, hii is clutching the nunchucks, marinating in a layer of sweat.
"what happened?" i ask.
"wii boxing," he responds.
i can't figure out the tennis. i need to be more aggressive in my approach of the ball. he knocks a shot toward me and i jump into the air and go for the overhand smash and instead whack a lighting fixture with my controller.
no damage done, but it is obvious that i need to simmer down and remember that i'm not a round-headed anime character with blue eye shadow and a bob, i'm not on the wii tennis tour, and when i jump and try to do an overhand smash, my mii -- named christa! -- won't feel shards of broken glass embedded in her skull.
we go to the head of the lakes fair to decompress. spend about an hour trolling the midway when chuck confesses that he misses the wii. i do too. we liive.
"guess what we got?" i ask jcrew.
"a plant," she guesses.
"no, better," i say.
"a puppy?" she asks.
"no ... better, i think," i say. "a wiiiiiiiii!!!!
"that nintendo thing?" she asks.
"uh huh," i say.
"that's gay," she says. "you should have gotten a puppy."
wii play wii sports and wii play. hours pass. chuck does four consecutive boxing matches, struts cockily, sweats heavily and wins. he masters bowling, sometimes getting two turkies in a round. i throw 86 mile an hour pitches at his head and he figures out my screwball. i google "calories burned while playing wii" and check blockbuster online to see if i can rent games. chuck plays video footage of first-time wii'ers breaking tv sets and knocking a cat's tooth out. when i take my ortho-tryclin at midnight, chuck snorts. "you won't be needing that anymore," he says.
at some point a box fan falls out of the window.
around 3 a.m., police comb the neighborhood with search lights.
if you think we noticed, you are grossly underestimating our athlet-wiicism.
taking another break on the deck. it's 3:30 a.m. this time we've been com-wii-ting since 9 p.m. the breeze feels nice and my arms are stinging.
"are you going to want to go to bed or play baseball?" he asks me.
"duh. baseball," i say.
we make mii's representing various personal celebrities to play on our baseball teams. jcrew, my mom, my landlord ... and some too funny to tell you.
we shut things down at 5 a.m., after approximately 10 hours of wii over the course of the day. i wake at 2:15 p.m. and i groan when i try to get out of bed.
"i feel like i got beat up by a video game," i complain. "i need to sit in a bath tub filled with ben-gay."
my pitching arm hurts. i'll probably need tommy johns surgery.
my right leg and butt hurt from bowling.
my forearm hurts from tennis and golf.
my abs hurt from all of the above.