Bad Fun, Anyone?

We had a beloved game growing up in my family that we called, “Bed Fun.” Essentially it was my dad and his three kids, Daniel, Kate, and me, all rolling around on the bed together, laughing, tickling, poking, and eventually, crying. Usually Kate (being the youngest) was the one who ended up crying, or at least crying first. We all knew that Bed Fun always ended in someone crying, so it was a game in which you played at your own risk. Just because someone started crying didn’t mean the game was necessarily over, and amid the fits of giggles, shrieks, quacks, and cries, the doorbell always rang. That shut us up. The doorbell meant someone was at the door, right? Wrong. It was my mom’s way of getting in on the game; she rang the doorbell, every time. But, every time (at least until we figured out my mom's ruse), when the doorbell rang, we all hopped off the bed and ran to see who was here. Just, Mama, again, laughing and reminding us all to be careful on the bed, because someone could get their eye poked out, you know. Because “Bed Fun” always ended up in someone getting hurt and crying, Kate (being the youngest) started calling it “Bad Fun.” “Can we play "Bad Fun," Daddy? We all thought that was a hoot, but so appropriate. Isn’t it funny how we're drawn to activities and situations that knowingly bring both pleasure and pain? Anyone up for a game of "Bad Fun?"