## The Existential Dread of Forty-Eight Days and a Missing Dad
Seriously? *Forty-eight days*? Are we sure this isn’t performance art? A bizarre sociological experiment disguised as a family board game marathon? Because I’m pretty certain my goldfish possesses a better sense of spatial awareness than the Peterson clan, and he mostly just stares at his gravel.
Apparently, Mr. Peterson decided to ditch the chaos – the Monopoly squabbles, the Scrabble-induced meltdowns, the constant threat of someone flipping the Settlers of Catan board in a fit of pique – for a relaxing Hawaiian vacation. And did they notice? Did anyone even look up from their dice rolls and think, “Hmm, Dad’s been awfully quiet. He usually yells ‘tax!’ with alarming enthusiasm.” No! They were too engrossed in accumulating virtual property empires and meticulously planning elaborate train routes.
It’s just… breathtakingly oblivious. It’s the kind of dedication to cardboard and plastic that deserves a medal. A very, *very* large medal. Perhaps one shaped like a miniature game piece. I’m picturing them now, gathered around the table, completely unaware that their patriarch was sipping Mai Tais on a beach while they argued over who got to be the banker.
Truly remarkable! It proves definitively that human beings can achieve peak distraction. I’m genuinely concerned for Mr. Peterson’s return. He’ll likely find a family hardened by endless gameplay, speaking in cryptic board game terminology and possibly building miniature wooden houses out of discarded packaging.
