(To combine two late 70s catchphrases concerning ABC's Wide World of Sports and Palmolive...)
Angela and I have developed something of a routine these days over dinner. Given the garbage that is the summer season (and trying to set a decent example for Xan), we have pretty much stopped watching television. Rather than turn on the TV, we have taken to playing nightly games of Scrabble. This presents something of a problem because, quite frankly, I have become a decent casual player and therefore beat the bejeesus out of Angela. This upsets her... and yet the masochistic minx comes back for more! What to do?
My solution was simple. Usually in our house, one person makes dinner and one person does the dishes -- the catch being that we both love to cook and both hate to do dishes. (And we don't generate enough dishes to justify using the dishwasher, but use enough to make washing a load by hand annoying.) When Scrabble is the form of dining entertainment, however, it's the winner that has to do the dishes. In essence, my exhileration at winning (and her depression at losing) is short-lived, since then I'm faced with suds. Says she, "It makes losing a lot better these days." (Today's winning word: POTHERS (meaning something similar to "bothers," seven letters with the S also making BASICS, for 74 points. Go me!)