I like to win. I mean I really like to win. It’s probably to the point of a character flaw. I was thinking about this today because I am really sore. Why? Yesterday, I played tennis with a woman who lives in the neighborhood. Normally, I only play with John because I have not been win-worthy in my game. But when I played yesterday, I really wanted to do well. So I ran all over the court trying to hit everything. Really, what’s the point? Couldn’t I just lose gracefully?

As far back as I can remember, I have always been super competitive. Beating my older sister at Clue when we were kids? Wow, what a rush. Getting the best grades? I’ve made myself sick worrying about whether I’d be at the top. Even beating my own kids at games, gives me some pleasure. They know that I only like to play games that I can win at. Pretty pathetic.

One of the greatest joys and sorrows of my life is having married someone who is better at almost everything than I am. It keeps the competitive spirit alive but it makes experiencing the agony of defeat a common feeling. Can’t win at Trivial Pursuit, not even in close in tennis. Don’t remember half the stuff he remembers. Stuck on a crossword puzzle? Just ask John. He’s also a better cook and, his dishwasher packing? Second to none.

I just hope when our grandson-to-be wants Nanie to play Chutes and Ladders, I don’t try to take him to the cleaners.

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