“So,” I asked casually, “You wanna play some cards?”
My husband is home today after working a million and a half hours in five days (or so it felt) and then plowing snow all weekend. He can never be accused of not being a hard worker.
The sun was shining, we were home, the boys were watching tv and I didn’t feel like cleaning the kitchen so I posed the question to my husband.
Back before we had cable this was how we spent many a night. We have played innumerable amount of games of cards and they all seem to go the same way. As this one did.
He shuffled the cards and I cleared a chair of all the snow stuff and back pack and shoes and I don’t know how old bag of popcorn so I could sit at the table. I sipped my coffee. I admired the sunshine. I took apart two legos for S4. And finally, my husband decided the cards had been shuffled enough.
We decided to play Rummy. As the game progressed and he picked up the WHOLE STINKING PILE, I only had only one set down. It included a Joker. He cried the injustice that I would have a Joker. We ended the hand with him at 115, me 60.
“Let’s play one more hand,” he said, grinning.
I swiftly dealt out the cards, giving him time only to swallow one large gulp of coffee. The hand was over nearly as soon as it had begun, I had 75, he had scored minus 25.
He flung his cards down. “Who’s idea was this?” he hollers loudly.
I shrug and grin as he shuffles the cards. “One more,” he says and his eyes take on a determined glint.
The hand is vicious. I try my best sneak, which is basically just me crying injustice and changing my cards and he hollering, “Did you think I just fell off the turnip truck?” and I come back with, “Well, you were wearing a poncho and sombrero yesterday so maybe you don’t know this game yet.”
He really was. And so was I. We had a Fiesta dinner at our church last night.
It’s a nail biter. We play card for card. We both get great runs. But in the end, I go out. And the end score is Husband at 225 and me at 255.
I try not to gloat. I really do.
He taps his cup on the table. “Hey, this is out of coffee.” He stands and hollers for S1 to be ready for him to take him to youth group. “Who’s idea was it to play more than one hand?’ he mutters to himself as he shrugs on his coat.
He kisses my cheek as he walks out the door.
And when he gets home, we’ll play cards some more.
We may sound like we need therapy when we play cards together but I tell you what, nothing makes us laugh more when we are done with the game.
It’s little moments like this that I treasure.