The Most Important Part of My Weekend

I have a good post waiting, guys. I just need to get my scanner humming, and then the laughter can begin. It’s a waiting game from here – that’s all. So, while I was thinking of what I could write to hold you over, Megan informed me that I could tell you, my readers, a little story about this weekend.

This weekend was none too big. We tried to go to the Zoo on Saturday only to find it had closed four hours previously. We ate at an Arby’s (where I didn’t realize that all their meals are kid’s meals), and then went home.

Sunday, however, was a different story. We met at China Moon, me with Cribbage in hand, to eat lunch. There is always a good selection of food at the Moon on Sundays, and, despite the slightly more inflated prices on that day, is well worth the trip.

After enjoying the first bites of our meal, we get the board out and start shuffling. Playing Cribbage at China Moon has become a tradition of ours. As a result, Megan has gotten quite good at the game. After I refresh her on what numbers together make 15 (“It’s 9 and 8, right? No. 9 and 6. What goes with 8? 7?”), we deal and the game begins.

Several good hands later, she is about 30 points ahead of me. She does her best to sound supporting but not overly condescending. It doesn’t work. “You’ll get some good hands, sweetie. Don’t worry.”

Then I get a decent hand. I count up, whoa, six points. Then, as I go to put my hand down, I realize that I didn’t use the 4 that was cut. I tell her that, explaining that my hand was perfect for a four – I would probably double my points. She says, “Too bad. It’s against the rules.”

What?

“You wouldn’t let me do this, and you know it.”

That is not true. Of course I would. You always get a chance to recount your cards.

“No way. You lost your chance. You put your cards down.”

No, this isn’t the same thing. YOU wanted to take back the cards you put in the crib because you saw what was dealt. That’s not the same thing.

“Sorry. Don’t cry about it.”

How many times did I recount your cards, or let you count them again? How many times?

“Fine, move. How many points would you have had?”

I don’t know. You took my cards.

“Just move.”

No. You said it was against the rules. I wouldn’t want to break any rules of the game that I taught you.

“Ugh! Move 4 or I will move back 4.”

No.

She goes to move.

Fine.

I move my page four points forward.

“Is that the number you would have had?”

Sure.

“No it’s not. How many? Just move some.”

No. That is cheating.

“I will start crying right here, I am serious.”

So, with that drama behind us, and 6 points added to my side, the game continues, and Lady Luck does not smile in my favor. In fact, the point spread gets worse. She continues to give me words of encouragement while my best hands are about 10 points short of her average hands.

I despondently eat my chicken teriyaki. I just play the hands and pay little attention to what may happen during them. That is why it snuck up on me. She easily pushes her peg into the finish spot and looks at me triumphantly.

Good job, baby. You won.

I try to sound cheery for her. Then I hear her say, so softly I can barely hear it, and so gently that it hardly befalls my ears, something I never thought I’d hear.

“What does that ‘s’ mean?”

It means skunk. If the other player isn’t past that mark, then they are skunked.

“Oh. So that means I skunked you.”

The realization was slow in setting in, but once it hit, it hit hard. She had skunked me. I have to tell her before every game that eight and seven make fifteen, and she skunked me. They say that all teachers hope that their students will outsmart them, but I never wanted this.

I never wanted this.

[ cribbage ]/[ megan ]/[ chineeeeese ]

Author: Miles Rausch

I’ve made a smart playlist of all the songs with 0 plays. I listen to them because I feel bad for them not because I like the music. I’m THAT guy.

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