I am playing Scrabble on Facebook with random strangers. I have no life, shoot me now.
How did things come to this sorry state of affairs?
I blame Soph. Obv.
A couple of weeks ago Soph complained that she couldn’t get no any Scrabble action.
Yes she tried. And she tried. And she tried oh God she tried. But she couldn’t…
Sorry, I seem to have drifted off in to a world of my own for a moment.
Anyway.
So I said ‘That’s OK dear,’ (or something similar). ‘We can play each other.’
Sigh.
Never, ever offer to play your other half at Scrabble.
It’s like putting an axe in their hands, laying your head on the chopping block and saying, in a cheery voice, ‘You just feel free to lop it off, when you’re good and ready!’.
There will be a whoosh in the air, followed by a heavy thunk, and your head will briefly take on a life of its own.
Or in my case, she will win the first game by a small margin thrash the living daylights out of me.
Like a fool, you’ll toss your hat in to the ring a second time and this time she doesn’t win, as such.
She kicks your cute little arse all over the world of Scrabble.
Humiliated, you have at it again.
She wins.
You are hooked on a spiral of desperation. The more you play, the bigger your trail of losses.
An almost toxic level of desperation blends with a feeling of frustration that’s approaching escape velocity and, like a crack addict long overdue your fix, you sneak on to Facebook and you start…
Seeking out strangers for a game.
Gingerly, at first, but with increasing confidence, you sit in the Facebook Scrabble zone pouncing on the profile of people who look as though they might be easy prey.
From inside your head, your need for a fix – the driving desire for a kill win – begins to scream at you.
You hit on random strangers, adding them to your pile of potential victims, like notches on some kind of a virtual bedpost.
You juggle multiple games, trying to remember the potential moves from each game, as you switch from opponent to opponent.
And that’s how you end up like me.
Getting my arse whipped in so many games of Scrabble, it’s embarrassing.
Heed my warning.
Stay away.
It’s a lesson I learnt a long time ago with an actual board and plastic tiles. Give her seven measly letters and she sees more words than I will ever know. The pause before laying down those tiles serves only to maximise the pain inflicted.
And yet, ask her to do anything with a computer and she is at a loss. Is there a word for that? Huh? What’s it score, then?
You and I should play, because I’m rubbish at it and it could do wonders for your Scrabbling self-esteem. If only I was on MyFace. Oh well.
I used to play Boggle with ‘er indoors, but after so many humiliating defeats, the game somehow got *lost* when we moved house.
Maybe it’s a woman-thing: can’t read a map, but can find every place name on there with a triple-word score.
Aha! you have obviously discovered Soph’s superhero power. Should you be admitting to all that online scrabble action? Isn’t it the semantic equivalent of dogging?
I’ve refused to play Scrabble with Mr V since the time we played it pissed and he kept suggesting words I could make which I thought was helpful but was actually just a ruse for hime to place my tiles so he could get triple word scores. The bastard.
I’m still hooked. And my hookage has become worst. I am playing Scrabble with random strangers on Facebook.
Annie, I love that – the semantic equivalent of dogging.
Vicola, I’m playing Soph again. she’s about 384 points ahead of me. She’s thrashed me for 162 consecutive games. And yet I still come back for more!