One upon a time, Almanzo and I took a weekend trip to the Mendocino coast. It was a cold, stormy weekend and we survived off of a large pot of chicken and dumplings and three bars of Lindt Sea Salt Chocolate.
It was lovely, really. We climbed tall lighthouses, listened to jazz and watched for whales (didn’t see any.) And then on the third and final night of our trip, we went out for pizza and I challenged him to an innocent game of checkers.
It all went downhill after that. Girls, listen up.
For the next two hours we sat at this tiny hole in the wall diner, eating slice after slice of the best pizza of my life (no, seriously…it had a sourdough crust!) and battling each other out on the checkerboard.
I was up… and then I was down. I drank two sodas. He drank one. I made a double jump and he got kinged. I ate his crust and said a bad word.
Finally, there was nothing left to said or done. He let out a whoop, a “sorry, dear!” and a victorious masculine arm thrust.
I scowled and demanded a re-match but there was none to be had. The diner was closing and I was hungry again, anyways.
Moral of the story: don’t challenge your VERY competitive Aggie boyfriend to a checkers match.
It’s just a bad idea.