I love playing Angry Birds. I revel in making messes I don't have to clean up--so unlike real life where I get to clean up messes I don't have the pleasure of creating. I get a kick out of popping smirking green pigs and reaping the reward of 5000 points every time they disappear. It's immensely gratifying to wipe the cheeky grins from their mustachioed faces or see black eyes appear as I pummel them with my skillfully placed winged weapons. I laugh at their impotence as I blow them up with TNT and smile as they roll slowly off some edge and plunge to the ground below. Destruction without consequence. Aggression without fighting. What's not to love?
It has occurred to me though that I perhaps at times may be unwittingly emulating our small winged friends, and it's not a good thing.
Depending on the circumstance, I may be the tiny and sweet innocuous bundle of blue softness that suddenly splits into three blazing bullets of blitzkrieg, or the sleek and driven yellow firebolt of fury that screams through anything in its path, or the brooding, glowering black cannonball that explodes on contact, spreading mayhem indiscriminately.
Because of my usually less-than-passive temperament though, I can pretty much guarantee that I'm never the impotent red Nerf ball that sort of glides half-heartedly toward the target and gently taps at it like it doesn't want to be annoying and apologetically drifts to the ground before disappearing in a self-conscious poof of embarrassed feathers. That's just not my style.
I did delete Angry Birds once. All three versions. And I stayed away, feeling virtuously controlled. And then...and then...and then I missed them. I missed smashing things. I missed the feeling of triumph as Golden Eggs and Golden Bananas and Golden Papayas and Golden Pineapples rose in splendid shining glory as I cleverly discovered the hidden little beauties. I missed high scores and three stars and smashing pumpkins and waterfalls of love hearts.
And so I revived my sorted love affair with The Birds. My husband doesn't approve. Truthfully, there are times when I hear him coming up the stairs and quickly turn off my i-Touch so he won't know I've been playing. I think he suspects.
I check for updates. I wait none-too-patiently for the next chapter of Angry Birds Rio, hoping they won't use any more of those ugly little varmits that resemble monkeys. They leer at me when I can't kill them.
I need more Birds! I need more challenges! I need to find more Golden Eggs!
What I really need is a 12 Step Program. Fast.