777

I tend to think about writing stories when I'm trudging home through the cold, or driving across the wide-open nothingness, or in the quiet moments before I'm fully awake when the shower is pouring heat back into my frozen appendages. Often I notice something and will try to make a story out of it. Try to make a connection to something else, something deeper in my life. This tried to happen last night.

The battle lines were drawn and the ground rules laid. It was a battle of epic proportions. My littlest pet shop Go Fish. This wasn't the usual Go Fish game where you match a card with its pair. None of that sissy stuff for us, we played the cut throat game of needing all four numbers before you can lay them down. The rule was, when asked you had to give up all your cards of that number.

The cards were dealt and the game began. Her little girl fingers were full of cards by the third round, but she held on. Actually she dominated. Even when I took advantage of the fact that she held her cards so that anyone could see them, she still won. So I have no hope of being a Go Fish National Champion, what can you do? I personally think i'll live, but my mind still reached for some type of deeper meaning in being beaten by a five year old.

There was no deep meaning. No self-realization, just the simple fact that sometimes you are left with three 7's and no more cards in the draw pile.