For this act, I told you I would do whatever chore you chose for me, which was one of the prizes from the game we played the other night. You said, “How about a back massage?” “That’s not a chore,” I replied. “It is to you,” you jabbed jokingly. “No, I mean a real chore. What chore do you want me to do?” “What if you make dinner on Monday when we get back from the church retreat?” In my mind, I started asking questions like “Is making dinner considered a chore?” and “What conditions must something satisfy to qualify as a chore?” Since I couldn’t answer those questions and I’d already denied your first request, I agreed to make Monday’s dinner.
I’m not sure if I ruined the game by giving you (or letting you claim) nearly every prize that you could’ve won, but who cares.