Ding Dong

Not as in Avon is calling.

In the afterglow of the Great Graduation Event (Crash's backyard party), The Boy suggested a game of Bananagrams. I am good at Bananagrams. It would be false humility to claim otherwise.¹ I don't. In fact, I tell everyone in the room. I'm really good at Banagrams.

So I join Favorite Facebook Nephew and The Boy in a round. I win. FFN is frustrated.²

We play again. Same result. In the middle of round 3, FFN resigns his position in favor of his mother, No-No, and Math Man takes over The Boy's spot. (FFN and The Boy go off to play some game at which I do not excel that resembles chess and uses lasers. They don't care who wins as long as it isn't me.) No-No and Math Man are at a serious disadvantage; not only are they taking over midstream, but are both novices.

Geek Guru tries to level the playing field by distracting me with a secondary conversation. I am mistress of the universe. I can talk and make words on the floor. "Bananagrams!" I exclaim proudly (not that this victory merits such).

Suddenly No-No looks closely at my tiles. "QUINTY?" she inquires.

Oh. No. I had created "SQUINTY," then siphoned off the S to use elsewhere. There is no redemption in Bananagrams. Should you declare victory under these circumstances, the round resumes, but without you. "Noooooo...."

From the sofa, Geek Guru begins, "Ding-dong, the wicked witch, which old witch, the wicked witch...." The rest of them join in.

Pride. It goes before a fall.

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1. I am good because the game favors those with larger vocabularies, good spatial skills and lots of practice. I spent a lot of time playing it with The Boy on vacation a couple of years back.

2. Note that FFN could destroy me in under two minutes with his eyes closed in any videogame. Probably in under 30 seconds. We all have our strengths.