THE PEANUT GALLERY: Winning the Big One

There are times when My Director will do something, pull of a feat, and I will be so proud, so full of love, so damn attracted to her. This is the story of one of those times.

We had taken Peanut to an amusement park during our beach vacation earlier this month. She's now reached the age where she gets excited for the rides and the games. And not just that silly pick-a-duck-and-win-a-prize-every-time game. Peanut needs to be challenged. Better yet, she needs me to be challenged. She also needs to be entertained. She needs to swing a mallet in an effort to send a plastic frog hurtling into a faux lilly pad.

That was her game of choice. Until she saw this guy:

"Daddy, I want to win a Minion." (Meaning, "Daddy, I want YOU to win me a Minion.")

"OK. Let's use up our tokens for the rides first, then we'll try to win you that Minion."

My Director, the realist trying not to get our daughter's hopes up told her, "I don't know sweetheart. That game is hard."

The game was this:

Can you believe I didn't get a picture of it?
So I got this one from here.

You had to throw oversized whiffle balls onto the table. Get it in the red circle in the middle, you get your choice of prize. Hit one of the blue ones, we're taking home that Minion. Not easy, mind you. But certainly nothing a world-class half-marathon-running, former backyard whiffle ball champion like myself can't handle.

The dreamer in me took over after declaring, "You can't win if you don't try, mommy."

"Yeah, mommy," Peanut chimed in. Boom.

So I ordered up the biggest bucket of whiffle balls they have. Nine for $5.

"That's a lot," was the best Mrs No-fun had to offer.

"More chances to win that Minion," I said confidently.

My first throw sank into the abyss of one of the white tubes. Then my second. Peanut failed to even reach the table. We kept asking for do-overs after her throws. The kids working the game graciously appeased us. At one point Peanut even hit a giant stuffed hot pepper that was wearing a fireman's helmet. We were, I must admit, pathetic. At this point. that Minion was a pipe dream.

"This is ridiculous," announced My Director, exasperated.

That's when she grabbed a ball and, barely looking, tossed it backhanded. Just guess where it landed. In the red hole in the middle. On the fly. ON THE FREAKIN FLY, for crying out loud. You can give me 50 balls and I probably wouldn't hit the red hole, let alone ON THE FREAKIN FLY.

My Director? First try. First toss. Barely looking. Backhanded. On the fly. Boom. I immediately started lobbying for the hot tamale with the fireman's hat. But Peanut settled for this ladybug pillow pet:

It did come in handy when we moved onto another beach house where pillows were lacking. Let me just say that thing is soft and cozy and I was as comfortable as could be in a beach house twin bed from the 1950s. Or, as Peanut said, quoting Despicable Me, "It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!"

"IT'S SO FLUFFY!"

But our story does not end there. Remember, we're here for a Minion. Peanut and I each take another turn, with no luck. That's when My Director, hot off her pillow-pet-clinching toss, grabbed another whiffle ball in her beautifully manicured hand, and gently tossed it over the rail, onto the table, where it promptly landed in a blue hole.

That Minion is ours:

Proud mom and daughter with their prize

Like I said, I was full of pride, love and a little turned on. "This may be the proudest I've ever been of you," I stated.

"Really?" She deadpanned.

"Well, besides giving birth, this is the most amazing thing I've ever seen you do."

"Yeah, mommy," said our happy little movie aficionado. "You're just like Gru:"