January 2nd, 2010

January 2nd, 2010

M.A.S.H.
\’mash\ n: an intense and usually passing infatuation; also: the object of infatuation

As children, we have a variety of many games that entertain us; keeping us preoccupied and increasing our brain activity as we sit in the doctor’s waiting room waiting impatiently; not because mom’s appointment is taking forever but because our opponent is taking his or her sweet time making his or her next move. Whether it be Battleship, Operation, Hungry Hungry Hippos or Guess Who?, we have been taught that to lose concentration focusing on something else than winning will cost us our next championship title.
For my friends and I, a great game that would fill up sheets and sheets of looseleaf, trying to decipher who our next love would be, was the game of M.A.S.H., those letters representing the location we would be fortunate or unfortunate enough to inhabit. However, the real object of this game was to figure out with whom we would end up with as a husband. In this game of M.A.S.H, we took the title as it was; an acronym that held our future and nothing more, certainly not a clear representation of what we were truly feeling.
My friends and I played endless games of M.A.S.H and I fervently hoped that the boy I was targeting, and the mash that projected onto him would inevitably come true so that instead of being the object of my infatuation, my crush and I would drive off in a Porsche with 2.5 kids to spend time in our summer mansion…