The card said you play the rest of this round with your eyes closed. The Optimist read it out as though it were a birthday present.
"Hey, good news," they said, and the table groaned. The victim, holding eleven cards, put a hand over their face and hoped.
It was not great. They played onto the wrong pile, handed themselves a penalty and asked three times whose turn it was, and the Optimist narrated each mistake as a stroke of luck. "Honestly? Love that for you."
At one point they walked into a doorframe. "Great angle," said the Optimist, with feeling.
When the round ended and the victim opened their eyes, the Optimist asked how it felt.
"Honestly? Not bad," said the victim, who had no idea why they said it.