I don't know how he puts up with me, what with my bright ideas - let's postpone your super duper fun Kung Fu Panda party until after you bid the black lung virus adieu -and my disappointing X-box skills.
I think he believes I have potential.
Zack was less comatose today and desperate for company so I put my gaming aversion aside, pushed start and took up fighting alongside Indiana Jones, donning the evening gown my son had picked for my character, Willie.
Of course, I can barely manage a joystick- no that's not right - controller. My strategy: Push buttons madly while my son gives me directions through gritted teeth in the same tone I use when I rhetorically ask at dinner: Does anyone here know how change the toilet paper roll? Because I am available for lessons...
Soon he is speaking louder, straining his sore throat, maybe because he doesn't think I heard him the first time. He doesn't understand; I don't speak X-Box 360.
I soon discover that my little character is unequipped for said Indiana Jones adventures. She doesn't carry a gun in a gunfight and lets out a prissy scream when I hit 'B', which you'd have to agree is a mighty pathetic weapon.
I stumble along, apologizing when I bust up Zack's character - like I meant to - and start to catch on. I race around and collect coins and baubles and add to our treasure while Zack does whatever we are supposed to be doing on each level.
(Look at me! Bringing home the bacon!)
I ride Lego horses and motorcycles and try to do my part when the rainbow-y glowy thing means a female character must complete the mission because apparently they jump better - trampoline better - but Zack has to muster up the last of his strength to go through a sex change to get the job done.
I'm so ashamed.
Towards the end, I finally figured out how to pick up a banana, but before I can fling it to a monkey, Zack's dude pulls me to another level.
My boy gives way to sleep, leaving me to bludgeon treasure chests and barrels with my trusty yellow plantain, wondering who comes up with this stuff.