“Oh come on! Pleaaaaasssse!” she giggled. She knew his earlobes were his soft spot.
“No, seriously. I don’t want to” he resisted.
“Ok, here’s what I’m thinkin’. I say we play a game. Winner wins” she suggestively urged. “If I win, you have to do it. If you win, you don’t!” she seductively smiled.
“Yeah, but I don’t have to do it now” he stated the obvious.
“Oh come on! Where’s your sense of sport?” she raised her brow and lowered her voice.
“Which game?” he asked.
“Um … let me look what’s here,” she knelt as she began to dig through the boxes. “Hey! Scrabble or dominoes?”
“Oh Christ,” he laughed. “Scrabble. I vote Scrabble.”
“Ok mister! I can whoop you at Scrabble!” she stood and started to walk toward the dining room.
“No, let’s play on the coffee table, then we can play tunes” he urged as he removed the books and knacks. “I’ll set up the board while you get the tunes. Something with a beat please.”
“Hey what do you want to drink?” he screamed from the kitchen.
“Diet Pepsi!” she yelled.
He winced while he poured. “How can she drink this shit?” he thought as he added ice. “Ok let’s set the ground rules,” he ordered while he balanced her order with a bowl of granola. “Jesus woman – you gnaw” he shook his head with affection.
“Ground rules? We don’t need no stinkin’ ground rules!” she chuckled as she chewed.
“Yeah, we do,” he felt firm. “I won’t use ecclesiastical words and you can’t use medical jargon. Agreed?”
“No. Absolutely not. No. Nuh-uh,” she negated. “We’re adults. Let’s just play.”
He rolled his eyes to confirm his concession, “where’s your dictionary?”
“I got one,” she stood and left the room. She returned with a slim paperback.
“You’re kidding right? That’s not a dictionary! That one didn’t finish puberty! Don’t you have a real dictionary?” he challenged.
“You know what … too many rules! Let’s just play!” She sat and started to take a tile. “I have E.”
He took his tile, “T. You’re first.” The game began. Two hours and two arguments later, she finished with a flourish.
“P-A-T-Z-E-R” she spelled with a flout. She added her score and he totaled the tally. He announced that she trounced. She raised her hands above her head as she parad
ed around his periphery. “I won! I won! You soooooooooo owe me!” She raced from the room and returned with a little pink razor.
“You expect me to use that?” he asked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, sure! Come on! Go shave!” she beamed.
“I can’t use that!” he flatly insisted.
“Hey … I won honey! I won!” she gloated as she gnawed her granola.
“Ok please let me explain this to you,” he began. “Using a Lady Bic that you’ve used on your legs to scrape the hair off my face while using Ivory bar soap not only screams ‘Ouch!’ but it can easily be accompanied by profanities. And not just the four lettered variety. I’m talking the polysyllabic and adjective intensive multipurpose curse words. I cannot use a Lady Bic.”
“Hey … shut up and start shavin’ buster! You lost!” She crossed her arms on her chest and planted her feet.
“I’ll shave. I will. You have my word. I hate it too you know. I’ll shave it Wednesday. I promise.”
“You promise?” she inquired.
“Solemn oath,” he vowed.
“Alrighty then,” she concluded. “Solemn oath huh?”
“Absolutely,” he assured. “Hey what’s a patzer anyway?”
“Do you care?” she giggled. “We could look it up.”
“Is it a real word?” he questioned. “Were you bluffing? I lost my beard to a bluff?”
“I dunno. It looked real! It doesn’t matter though – you lost!” she crowed. “Wednesday?”
“Wednesday. And I’m never playing poker with you,” he pledged.
“Are you sure?” she enchanted.
“Get the cards!” he said as he cleared the table.
“Oh my God, Thanksgiving pictures with a beard!” she wailed as she searched for a deck.
November 21, 2007
