Cabin Fever Games

The winter months are a great time to share intimate moments with your significant other. Being stuck inside day after day can force even porcupines to interact.

When marriage was new and “love” was the four-letter word most often heard at your house, it was easy to find ways to while away the hours of weather-induced incarceration. You had no kids. No TV in the bedroom. Energy to spring from the couch and actually touch each other.

After a decade or two of shared winters? The TV is blaring, the house is full of offspring, and the only sparks of electricity you feel are those produced by shuffling across the carpet and accidentally brushing fingertips with your mate when you both reach for the remote at the same time.

The definition of intimacy changes once you’ve seen and heard and smelled the sum total of your partner’s contribution to the union you share. What was endearing and cute becomes annoying.

Idiosyncrasies that made you giggle with gooey-eyed indulgence in the early days of marriage lose their charm and are endured only because they are not grounds for justifiable homicide.

The time you share with your roommate in these dull winter days can still be harmonious, though. You just need to find activities that are mutually satisfying and entertaining without being strenuous or mushy.

John and I have, over the long years, developed several winter games to keep our blood pumping and our hands away from sharp, violent objects. They help us talk without yelling, breathe without sighing or huffing and interacting without police intervention.

The game of Thermometer is a favorite at our house. It is mounted outside the kitchen window, screwed into the wood of the deck railing at a distance that makes clear reading impossible. That just adds to the fun.

Hourly, one of us will amble to the sink, brace our hands against the frigid windowpane and squint outside.

“It’s 15 degrees out there.” The reader makes his announcement, and his hot air fogs the glass. Now comes the challenge from the opponent. She takes her place next to him, careful not to touch any part of him and risk static shock, and adds her two-eyes-worth (plus bifocals) to the mix.

“Looks more like 19. Count the red lines.” I glance at him—because I must—and see his problem. “You don’t have your glasses on.”

I win. We leave the window, plop back into our corners and rest up for the next hour.

On-going challenges fill our boring, cabin-fevered lives, keeping us engaged.

1. “The TV—it’s too loud!” (You must be going deaf.)

2. “I’m freezing; we need to turn up the heat!” (It’s plenty warm in here—have you seen the bill from last year at this time?)

3. “Think the mail’s here yet?” (It’s too early—yesterday it was exactly 12:35 when it got here.)

We sit in opposing corners of the Wedding Ring with our gloves on, flinging verbal jabs with lackluster resolve and half-hearted interest. As always, spring will be here soon, and we’ll both scramble to climb through the ropes and forfeit the fight.

Until then? It’s game on.

Contact Robin at robinwrites@yahoo.com