Megan Stielstra's Blog

The last time I played Scrabble with Christopher was November 2004. We'd been living in Prague for eight months and I was homesick. And PMSing. And Bush had just won the election so I was sort of upset. And drunk (but I was mildly drunk the entire time we were there, I think. It's a cultural thing). He was kicking my ass (which was nothing new in the slightest: Christopher is Scrabble Man. If we play Scrabble it's understood that I'll lose in a big way, but that's how you get better, right? Losing? Again and again and again?) and then he played some five letter word for seventy-two points and something cracked and I burst into tears. I cried and cried and, poor guy, he had no idea what the hell was going on. The ouburst had little (if anything) to do with Scrabble, but I put on a very fine show of dramatics and vowed to never again play that horrible game.

Jump forward nearly a year to right now. We just played for the first time since that night, and I won. By a lot: 298 to 216. Now, if I'd won by just a little bit, I might've bought it (usually he wins by like 400 to one-something). But since I won in such a big way, I'm guessing that he threw the game. To build my ego, you know? Also because he really likes to play Scrabble and probably wants me to play with him more often, so letting me win is in his best interests all around. He maintains that no, he didn't let me win. In fact, when I said I was going to go write about this on my blog, he said, "I'm so going to counter-blog that!"

Go ahead. Counter blog me. Prove my Scrabble-savvy to the masses. And especially, to me.