I have a play date this Saturday. Not for my kids (probably because we don’t have any), but for me. My wife arranged it. Except she doesn’t call it a “play date.” She calls it Game Night.

She swears it’s something couples have always done, but she’s also the person who swears that men who hold purses outside department store dressing rooms are the sexiest things alive; obviously, she has no problem with lying.

I did some research, though, and it turns out she’s right. Game Night actually dates back to the ancient Aztecs — right around the time Cortez dropped by and introduced them to the many joys of syphilis. The dying people — who knew they had precious few days left — banded together and played Trivial Pursuit and Monopoly in an effort to make …