Princess Frostine vs. Old Maid

When I was pregnant, and gleefully digesting endless books in preparation for motherhood and parenting, not one of those so-called experts revealed the ugly truth: I would have to endure years of Candyland.

The mere sight of that “bored” game, with its windy path of colorful squares leading to the Candy Castle, and I immediately want to flip on the Cartoon Network.  Those early sleepless nights were paradise compared to being stuck in a room with Gloppy and Princess Frostine.

After 7 years of post-game analysis, I realize that Candyland has the same allure as porn: it’s highly addicting and promotes fantasy.  For a mother to try to enforce healthy eating, after a child has been exposed to images of jellybeans, fudge and licorice, is like the middle-aged wife trying to compete with those X-rated cheerleaders her husband has been secretly watching perform on the basement TV.

When Savannah suggests we play Candyland, I cringe.  Fun for a kid is the family reunion adults dread, with King Kandy, the rich old grandfather, Lord Licorice, the eccentric, gay uncle, and Lolly, the bratty younger cousin.

“Try finding the Old Maid deck” I’ll re-direct.  At least the eccentric Old Maid, compared to the Candyland gang, resembles a 60s radical.  She still smokes pot, I bet.

Meanwhile, I’m counting the days until Savannah discovers Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit.  Now those are games.

4 responses to “Princess Frostine vs. Old Maid

  1. My daughter stopped playing Scrabble with me around the age of 12, she said I was a sore winner! That was my revenge for the years of Candy Land, Chutes & Ladders, and Sorry!


  2. I’m smiling, remembering those days. My son wasn’t much of a board game kid (thank the stars), but he loved TV. He was moving on to more mature shows like Sesame Street and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons when “Barney” became all the rage. He started watching that show and that simpering song “I love you, you love me, we”re a happy fam-a-lee…” was just too grating on my nerves. I forbade him to watch a show with a purple dinosaur. Thankfully he obeyed.


  3. I’m remembering a couple of books that the kids loved for me to read, and that I detested because they were so cloyingly sing-songy and cute (“A House is a House for Me” was particularly dreadful!) The rhymes are burned in my memory, burned! It was so much better when we moved on to books with sentences — ah, Kenneth Grahame!


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