“Q-U-O-N-E. QUONE. You know, when a patient gets out of hand, you have to quone’em. We need a medical dictionary!”
Granted, I am showing improvement. I only gave him 2 Triple Word Score spaces, instead of setting him up for all 8, and I only lost by about 40 points. But when did I become such a poor loser?
I was never really big into sports in elementary or high school. First out in dodge ball in 4th grade PE? Oh well, I’ll just sit over here and read “Incident at Hawk’s Hill” again.
On the rare occasion when I wasn’t riding the bench on my high school’s varsity softball team, my sister and my best friend would eat my sunflower seeds and drink my Gatorade Ice, filling it back up with cloudy water from the team’s water cooler, then laughing at me when I came back into the dugout. The three of us were also admonished by out coach for an inappropriate display of mirth on the bus ride home from a particularly bad loss. Apparently the appropriate attitude was one of despair and humiliation. We didn’t get the memo. It was Friday, and we had a date with a handle of Aristocrat vodka and a henna home tattoo kit.
I hope our Technology department isn’t monitoring my internet usage too closely today, lest they see a spike in Google searches for ‘scrabble+tips for winning’ and ‘how to lose graciously.’