Nerf Wars

Last year I was in a store with my son shopping for pots and pans that either never get dirty or that clean themselves, and we passed the toy isle.

I bought two Nerf guns and a load of darts thinking that someday my 10 year old son and I would have a little war.

This was stupid for two reasons. First, boys with Nerf guns shoot sisters without following any moral code. Eyeballs and screaming mouths are excellent targets for foam darts.

Second, boys, in general, break everything.
Everything.
My son has broken rocks, lizards, pants, food, and every plastic toy that has breached his ½ mile destruction zone.

Last week, I scheduled a “play date” (I hate that term) with a boy and girl who are the same ages as my kids. I also knew that the boy had Nerf guns, so I asked him to bring ‘em along for a friendly war.

Today, before they arrived, I pulled out our Nerf guns and found that they didn’t work. Not exactly a surprise. I found all of the darts that had not been partially digested by the dogs, and hid them so I would have unlimited shots during the war – hey, don’t judge me, it’s my house.

The guests arrived and rolled out of the Toyota with gigantic battery powered Nerf guns with magazines, bullet belts, and a bag of darts. They had enough firepower to take out a village of Smurfs.

Game on.

I went over the basics, you know, “Whomever gets all the flags wins,” and “If you get hit, lay down and count to ten,” and “If you see blood, call for a time out until we figure out where it’s coming from”.

After we hid our flags, all hell broke loose for about two hours. I was sweating within the first five minutes, and I think I counted to ten enough times to hit 6 digits.

I soon realized that the children had formed a Survivor-type alliance with each other to take the old man down. Another reason to keep your kids away from reality TV.

During the mayhem, I noticed the tykes weren’t picking up the darts they were riddling me with, so I devised a diabolical plan. During my ten counts, I took every dart I could reach and shoved them in my pockets. If I’m the only guy with ammo, I will win, right?

Wrong.

My son remembered the goal and took all the flags while I lay on the floor guarding my groin while being peppered with darts from the other three hoodlums. Next year, I’m getting one of those Smurf destroyers…and I’m going to wear a cup.