My competitive nature was tempered some over the years. I worked. By some small miracle, I managed to find a small group of friends in high school. I even pulled off dating a string of mostly all the wrong boys. Even through all the distractions that I spent my energy on, I still had a great GPA and pretty much made the ACT my bitch. I probably would have done really well in college had I gone. It just wasn't going to happen for me when I had my very own newborn at 18. That's ok, I still wouldn't change a thing.
Nowadays, I don't have much time to invest in being competitive in anything. My competitive streak is still alive and well, but I just don't have enough hours in the day to make anything more than a humble go at nurturing it. To be honest with you, the main source of competition in my life is Words With Friends. Sad but true. I still get my ass handed to me on occasion but overall, I should probably be in the Words With Friends Hall of Fame with a record like mine. I can put my exceptional spelling skills and extensive vocabulary to good use, even if the game rejects some of my more colorful offerings. I suppose my hardline stance on good spelling and understanding of definition causes me some issue. Last week I lost a run of games to my husband, and they stung. It isn't losing to him that I mind. It's losing to his technique. He hunts and pecks and pulls words out of his ass and it just irks the living shit out of me. It takes everything in me to not challenge him with, "Can you define the word please?" or "Please use the word in a sentence!" from across the room. I suppose I will forever be the second grader in a plaid jumper and knee socks, licking my spelling bee wounds. The worst part of it all is that I think on some level he takes joy not from beating me outright, but the fact that the way he beats me pisses me off so much. Yes, I know I shouldn't give a reaction. Yes, I realize I'm being infantile. No, I do not care.
Last Friday, while working, I got a notification on my phone and opened the screen to the board. The word that was played was "Greatness". I see a chat bubble notification in the upper right corner and clicked it to find this comment, and I responded in kind to the shit talking.
|Liberal use of profanity, because I am nothing if not consistent.|
It was my dad.
I tell people to go fuck themselves all the time, which is probably why I don't have many friends, I'm not employed in anything that resembles a professional setting, and I've been the black sheep mom of the schools since 2000. I do so with conviction, indignation and enthusiasm. I am reliable, consistent and prolific in the manner in which I hand out whichever variation of the "Fuck Off" directive I am feeling in the moment. This was no different than any other time with one exception. This was the first time in my 38 years I have ever accidentally told someone to go fuck themselves.
And it was my dad.
I panic and try to save face, and offer this, since I don't have the ability to retract chat. Hitting send is kind of like taking your hand off of a chess piece. It's a done deal.
|Because caps lock effectively conveys the urgency, no?|
I realize the best way to lessen the likelihood of this happening again in the future would be for me to clean up my language, but quite frankly, that shit is not going to happen. I'd say that I am sorry if that offends anyone, but I'd be lying.