So yesterday Skyrim, the newest, amazingly, gloriously detailed spectacle of awesomeness that is the latest installment in the Elder Scrolls series, came to our house.

And despite the years spent playing Morrowind and Oblivion, the two precursor games, it was not purchased by AT, and is not being played by AT.

No, this time I was outmanuvered by the 14 year old MastaG, who became as obsessed a player of Oblivion as I am, and preordered the game months ago.

Anybody that knows me and lives at the house that I live at know that I can get a little bit into video games.  When Bell was pregnant, she had the wisdom to buy me not one, but two video games, thus guaranteeing that I’d be leaving her alone while she slept on the couch.  I have to time my video game purchases for when there are minimal responsibilities for me, because I tend to tunnel vision into them, and when I look around, hours have passed and everybody is asleep.

No, having the baby around when AT got the newest sparkliest game would not be acceptable.  And MastaG counted on that…

Punk.