My husband and I like to play Scrabble. Until recently, I kept the game on the kitchen counter for easy access. But a few weeks ago, I had such a run of bad luck playing: having all vowels, even all "i"s, all consonants, getting the "q" at the end of the game, that I part of myself I hate to acknowledge - the BAD LOSER - arose with a vengance. I stopped in the middle of our second game in a row because my husband kept putting a word right where I was about to put it. I put the game upstairs in the hall closet. Last night I felt calm and mature. I brought the game down. We played neck and neck until on my last draw of letters, I drew the "z". There was no place to put it, no word to make. I also had a couple of 4 pt letters left and two "u"s. Needless to say, the "q" had already been used long before. I had 15 pts against me as my husband went out. I lost. He asked if I wanted to play again. I refused, and marched the game back upstairs. Does this prove we're forever young? I'd hoped for more resilient skin, not bad sportsmanship. I asked myself why I didn't just enjoy the process? The answer was ugly.
Perhaps I can excuse myself a bit because I'm stir crazy from my broken foot. But still. It's quite disillusioning to be as ancient as I am and still a baby. It's not like I would win anything, or be given a plaque or be in the newspaper. There is no reward.
But at least I'm still fully human. With all the issues we humans have. Annoying as they are.
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