Mario Bros. & Cordon Sis.

Michelle is so angry.

You see we play a lot of Wii with the boys.  And Michelle never wins.  Brigham is like Mike Tyson in Wii Sports Boxing -- virtually undefeatable  (did you like the pun?)  And Michelle is Glass Joe.  Brigham is Super Mario; Michelle is King Koopa. Brigham is Pacman; Michelle is the Pink Ghost walking into a trap.  Brigham is Master Chief; Michelle is a headshot.  Brigham is a six year old; Michelle is not.

Last week we were playing some running game while up in Island Park.  You put the controller in your pocket and run in place for about 7-8 minutes while your Mii makes his way through this course.  The thing is when you are racing Brigham he doesn't move.  It's like watching a Deacon at a dance.  It's a two step shuffle with no real motion and he yet his character is hauling through the game.  Meanwhile Michelle is utilizing every ounce of that college education to figure out how the program is sensing her movement and maximizing it for optimal results.  That means she is working her butt off running at nearly a full clip and somehow Brig bops happily to the finish line. Well ahead of her.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Then we played boxing tonight.  Michelle fought like a lion and yet couldn't  make it through 45 seconds into the second round -- 6 different times.  The thing is, on boxing Brigham just goes nuts swinging his controllers around without any rhyme or reason and yet he just continually clocks her.  It was amusing to watch.  Mostly because Michelle got more and more angry as she lost.  And Brigham talks a ton of trash.

I started writing this blog because I was watching a football game and just out of the blue (three hours after we shut the Wii off) she comes up to me and starts complaining about how Brigham is cheating because he either moves without a purpose or because he moves completely uncontrolled and yet both ways result in him crushing her.  The competitive juices still bubbling over inside her.  I thought that was cute.  It reminded me of Jan.  And Connie.  And Bev.  And Bev's mother that I never met.  And her mother before her.

Brett, Gene, Cal and I should start a support group.

Luckily none of my children are girls that will grow up to be Cordon women.  But let this be a warning to their future wives that their children have a 50/50 shot of being of the kinder and more gentle sex and that gene is probably not going to skip any more generations.  I don't however intend to let them know that before I can get the kids married off, just to be on the safe side.