My first husband's sister, who at age 50 adopted three sisters from Kazahkstan, has a great sense of "what plays well." This year they sent us a strategy game for Christmas. The idea is that you place tiles to gain territory: fortified cities, fields, roads, monasteries. The boys scoped it out yesterday, and at the moment there is a 5-player cuthroat game being played out in the sun room.
With two newbies in the game, there has been much advice flying. Much advice. Some of it isn't even self-serving.
As I figured the rules out, I decided I wanted to think things through in relative peace. I picked a tile from the pile, and peeked and started to consider my options. An immediate hue and cry arose. "You have to show us the tile." "No, I don't!" "Yes, you do." "Right (imagine sarcasm dripping), there's a rule that says I have to show you the tile and then you can harass me about where to put it."
Barnacle Boy hands me the rule sheet. Under "Placing Land Tiles"? He [sic] looks at it, show it to his fellow players (so they can advise him on the "best" placement of the tile).
Save me now.