|This guy handles losing better than some people I know.|
Since I am extremely stupid and cannot learn new things, we are limited to the basic form of Gin but I have become a decent player.
It's a simple game yet does require a bit of strategy and I've learned when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em and manage to win my fair share of hands.
If I'm winning, Seth gets very quiet.
Not unlike Kanye West after he doesn't get the Grammy. You just know something is coming....
Thrusting out his lower lip, Seth pouts and fusses, running his tiny, child-like hands through what's left of his hair.
He fidgets and twitches and says things like "Was that the phone?" or "I think a hear a cat vomiting" or "Want some chocolate? with the intention of distracting me.
I know it's not the damn phone and I don't care if a cat is vomiting but he gets me every time when he brings up chocolate. I am working very hard on not reacting to those words but, let's be honest, it may not be possible.
At the word "chocolate" my head reflexively snaps up and starts to swivel around. It is then that I'm pretty sure he peeks at my cards.
Yesterday, we were having our daily tournament--two games (scoring to 100) out of three. This usually doesn't take too long and we listen to music and
we I talk about who we I hate and why, while we're playing.
It's tons of fun.
At first I was winning, pulling pretty far ahead before he thought to mention chocolate and my playing started to deteriorate. Suddenly he was ahead and before I knew it, I had lost.
I have tried to keep my small camera on and rolling so I can record what goes on when he wins but he behaves like a perfect gentleman when he is being filmed.
I am saving up for hidden surveillance cameras so I can catch his antics because, honest to God, no one would believe that this madman is my soft spoken, rational husband. I intend to send copies of the tape to his boss, Youtube, Al Jazeera and the FBI. In that order.
Having been down by so much and coming back to win, he went particularly wild. Leaping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air, he pirouetted in mid air as he shouted "I WON! I WON!" over and over until the cats were really vomiting....this time from sheer nerves. I wanted to join them.
My ears are still ringing.
Once, when I'd achieved victory in as dramatic a fashion, I attempted a similar outburst but gave up almost immediately. I get no pleasure from gloating and, besides, his sobbing made me feel kind of bad.
Yesterday, after he finally wound down, he agreed to my lady-like-as-always request for a rematch.
As the first hand was being dealt, he suddenly leapt to his feet and, literally, ran from the room. He returned with a large piece of paper upon which he had written, in black, the word 'LOSER" and an arrow. He then positioned the paper on the table so it pointed right at me.
That was it.
Something in me snapped and I burst into tears.
I really did not want, nor expect, to cry. But he'd gone one step too far and my hormones, which had been edging closer and closer to the precipice of something bad, finally flung themselves into the abyss...and I followed, bouncing off the rocks as I fell.
I managed to quickly composed myself, embarrassed that tears were shed over something so banal.
He rose, got me a paper towel and simply said, "This is why a woman can't be president" and continued dealing the cards.