Growing Up Eighties, Games 4

When we moved out to the country for a bigger house that had its own pool, I quickly declared the bedroom with the pink carpeting mine as Chuckie took a piss off the back porch and screamed, “I’m a Countwee Boy Now!”
We weren’t permitted to ride our bikes in the street anymore because the street that we lived on was barely a street. It didn’t even have a name. It was like I had just memorized my old address 335 Duncan Station Road and now I had to memorize a new one RR what?! You know, to impress people with my intelligence. The road was speed city and I don’t think we were even permitted to think about going near the road. Yes. That was exactly what Mom said.
I remember the day we met our neighbors. In the country, you really can’t walk to a neighbor’s house. You drive. This was new for us. Mom said that they had a girl my age and a boy close to Chuckie’s age. Before I met Ann, my new best friend, I honestly believed that she would jump out of the car wearing the same Madonna t-shirt and the same blue glasses as me. That’s the way it happened with The Babysitter’s Club. She didn’t. But we were instantly best friends anyway.
We were a duo, Ann and I. And we liked to play a game we creatively named WAR. To play WAR, you need a best friend, two other players equally creatively named THE BOYS, and every single item you can get your hands on in the garage.
First, build a fort. Ann and I never really got past this part. Once a location was decided, we needed to clean it up, maybe pick some flowers for it. Then we would need food and drinks. By this point, the boys were well on their way to successfully throwing every single object from the garage into the middle of the battlefield. Rakes, hammers, brooms, dog bowls, whatever.
WAR typically ends with Mom yelling at us to put everything back where it belonged. But WAR never ends mentally. After the game is over, you must plot tactics for the next round. There are no winners, but prizes for Best Fort were sometimes awarded.