There’s a skill involved in the gameplay of Rock, Paper, Scissors . . . and my wife doesn’t have it. Yet she goes back to the well over and over again when difficult or otherwise arduous tasks arise. There is a part of me that thinks she either just enjoys cleaning bloated diapers one can smell from across the living room or has thrown the towel in mentally on the game. Either way I have gotten out of more compromising positions raising our child thanks to the intense RPS regimen maintained in my own childhood and teenage years.
The skill or lack there of my much prettier other half has maybe because she was an only child. My skill level may also have to do with the fact I was the second from the bottom of nine. A victory for me in RPS determined glory and dominance for me. Who got the last crab leg, who took out the trash, who was going to go down in the creepy, rat infested basement to get Snapple for everyone. Who got choice of the best player. Who was going to face the firing squad for breaking the window. RPS was and is a survival game for me. And that’s why I don’t lose.
What I’ve earned over the years, is that the game actually has nothing to do with the task. It has everything to do with the anticipation. If you can block out the downfall and just watch your opponent, you can usually outwit that constant paper thrower and get ‘em with the scissors.
And for the best of players, like somebody I know, just give it up after the first one, because it’s not your day. Best of three, sure. Best of seven, why not I have the time. But when you are talking double digits, it may just be time to retire, because you are embarrassing yourself and you don't got it that day. Or any other day for that matter.
- Frank (RPS Champion, now, always, forever)