Not many people are blessed with the gift of incredible foresight. To be able to predict events and happenings before the actual occurrence is an amazing feat of tuned second sight. However, being able to predict when a loved one shall be lost is a rare and rather frightening gift. How do I know? Well, you see, dear VoiceboxX readers, I know exactly when I will lose my husband. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
On September 25th, as the night deepens and the witching hour approaches, my dearest shall be lined up against a wall ready to be shot at, hunted and worse. At 12:01am Harry shall leave this world and enter another; a universe full of unspeakable evil, pointy-faced aliens, rechargeable body armor and endless, bloody “Slayer” modes. Yes, as the clock rolls from night to morning, my husband will be standing in a Barboursville parking lot with a bust of the “Master Chief” held high above his “I don’t need a haircut” head. Halo 3, after four years of anxious waiting, is being released to the sweaty and thumb-cramping masses. One-by-one our menfolk will flock to their respective man-caves with tiny plastic cases (or giant helmets) clutched in their sweaty hands.
For two or three days I will be expected to deliver food and hyper-caffeinated beverages (tinted red and labeled as “Halo edition”) to the cave door. I can rest assured knowing that romantic notions and tender conversations will be replaced with grunts of recognition and the occasional bursts of game-related fury. “I got you, man! I totally got you! Shenanigans!”
A few nights before the Halo 3’s much anticipated release I wandered into the midst of a pre-game playing session. My significant other, nestled in his over-sized leather “Man Chair,” was in a heated war with two of his good buddies. I struggled to follow their high tech conversation:
“What the- Where’d you get a grenade launcher?”
“Where are you?”
“Agh! You just shot me in the [buttocks]!”
“Agh! You just shot me in the [buttocks]!”
“Ah HA! Killed you!”
“You committed suicide.”
“Yeah, but I took you down with me!”
Being the only feminine presence in the room I attempted to offer helpful advice. “Hey sweetie – you two combined have as many kills as ‘Rage of Zeus’!”
“Thanks,” Harry said as his green armored on-screen man erupted in a cloud of smoke courtesy of Zeus’ aforementioned grenade launcher.
“Ha! It’s funny to watch you get hurt – kinda like when you do it in real life and it totally cracks me up!” I cackled. I may be a loving wife but have still not managed to figure out how not to erupt into giggles when my husband bangs his head on an open cabinet door. I’m sure it hurts – but that doesn’t make it any less funny.
Harry’s friend is struck down by a sniper bullet courtesy of the virtually indestructible “Zeus.” He looks at me and then back at the screen. “Kinda mean, ain’t she?”
“Yep,” the love of my life said, and then “Die! Die! Why won’t you- Oh. I died.”
Giggling, I left the men to their 2-D destruction thinking that, if nothing else, I was at least forewarned. With bated breath and barely concealed sniggers, I will anticipate the coming of the alien invasion and the guaranteed disappearance of my sweet husband into a land of cold landscapes, evil invaders and the occasional death threat of his arch-nemesis, “Rage of Zeus.”
