“I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse” he says, reminding me of a young Brando. Young like in short pants preschooler young. ” You give me the train station utility you just bought.”

“And?” I say.

“Nothing. You give me the train station. That’s it.”

Playing Monopoly with an almost four year old is an interesting experience.

First, the tokens. You’ll start the game with the airplane token and the child with the laptop token. By the end, fifteen minutes later, you’ll have no token and the child will be playing with all the tokens. I mean playing with the tokens themselves and not Monopoly at all.

Then the dice. You’ll spend a majority of the aforementioned 15 minutes searching for one die because the child will keep launching them under the entertainment unit. Not under the sofa mind, where you can reach in and get it out, but definitely the entertainment unit where an ant would have trouble squeezing under.

The counting of places. Every throw must and will end on Community Chest or Chance. The counting of places to ensure this is up to you, regardless of what shows up on the dice.

Buying places. No money? No problem! It’s like the sub-prime times around here.

Of course more fun times follow at the end of fifteen minutes as you follow the preschooler around the house and they shed mortgage cards and bank notes. Inevitably one card will be eaten by the devourer of toys who lives in the sofa. Also inevitably, at an age when he can actually play Monopoly child will blame you for loss of card. Even more inevitably, you will find yourself drawing this card with flimsy A4 paper and marker pens.

Ah, all this inevitability is making my head spin. I think I’ll go hide Scrabble before he tumbles to the existence of that even more delightful board game.

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