Brighton Rock Beats Scissors
by Will Bailey
Don’t bother me. I’m trying to concentrate. Wife is on an unbelievable 54-0 winning streak in our ongoing Rock, Paper, Scissors battle of the spouses. For those of you who have been living under a rock, you know exactly what I’m talking about, because rock is one of the key elements of this intense hand sport. As for the rest of you who have never heard of Rock, Paper, Scissors, have you been living under a pile of bananas or something? This is only one of the most universal argument mediation tools in the history of world we’re talking here. At some point in your life, you have used Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who has to take out the trash, who has to extinguish the toilet fire and who has to turn off the light by walking past Cat’s secret stalking spot underneath the dresser. The only problem is that, if you’re like me, YOU NEVER WIN. That is because Wife is some kind of Russian-developed Rock, Paper, Scissors Robot, sent to the US of America to befriend a simple-minded American boy, marry him, and then systematically dismantle him through a series of carefully calculated strikes. Seriously, she’s like the Terminator: analyzing every single biological reading I give off to anticipate my next move and crush it before I can even blink. I don’t know why I even try anymore. The outcome is always the same: I throw rock, she stares into the depths of my soul, sees the future and then lays the paper hammer down, gangster style. Maybe I should develop a fourth option: surrender.