Playing by colours

Stuart had started pretty well, managing to beat me to Old Kent Road and Pall Mall through a twist of cunning involving a race car and the number six. But, after some minutes, many shots of vodka and lots of hard bargaining I successfully managed to become financially solvent owner of the trendier hotspots of our great capital, leaving him nothing to do but gape in awe at my extensive knowledge of real estate and my no nonsense attitude to slaying all possible competitors that might dare to stand in the way of me getting my hands on the land that I feel I thoroughly deserved to own and make lots of paper money off of. It would appear my boyfriend is a bad loser. Sensing his imminent defeat somewhat belatedly, began to insist that regeneration of the less desirable areas would one day be worth a fortune. And, he told me, breathing vodka and chocolate breath on me as he tried to kiss me into resale related submission, they were pretty colours. Of course I should just swap my ugly blue properties with him, let him do me the favour of taking them off my hands.

Ordinarily, the sheer aesthetics of the situation would charm me into conceeding. But. This is Monopoly.

The game was drawing to a close and Stuart, looking mildly perplexed at just how seriously I took Monopoly, whimpered off to the kitchen to open the next bottle of celebratory vodka I was owed he owed for such an embarrassing defeat -I was thoroughly into my new role as hard-hitting property mogul, which, as he rightly pointed out, would make him the housewife.
Which is niiiiice.