Pokémon Go continues to be a thing around here, so occasionally I find myself being roped into Pokémon hunts. I’m still okay with this, but some hunts go better than others, of course.
Recently a special Pikachu, one wearing Ash‘s hat, showed up on sightings while we were out, and off we went in search. The hunt . . . did not go well at first, and both L. and his mother were getting frustrated, until finally L’s Mother exclaimed, “Where is that Ash hat Pikachu?!”
Several people have pointed out to me that the Pokémon Go craze in this household won’t last forever, and that’s certainly true.
But we’ll always have Paras.
Apparently my willingness to drive out of my way so my family can visit PokéStops, combined with my willingness to act as driver and navigator on rainy day Pokémon hunts, makes me “cool.”
Now . . . I knew the definition of “cool” was going to change from what it was when I was a kid, but this is not the direction I expected it to take!
I remain unbitten by the Pokémon Go bug, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know anybody who plays it. It seems a harmless enough game to me, but I was still oddly . . . displeased to learn my favorite authentic Irish pub was virtually crawling with the little digital vermin.
