competition's a bitch

Thou shalt not covet; but tradition approves all forms of
competition.
-Arthur Hugh Clough

I am the most competitive person on the planet. I love games, but to enjoy them I have to win. Two of my ex-boyfriends got so frustrated with this need that they refused to be anywhere in my vicinity while games were played. At my old job, my colleagues (fellow campus residents) and I would have ferocious, screaming, Scrabble, Taboo, and Scene It matches. I argue with jabooshee (my 15-year-old cousin) over the rules for the kids' game Guess Who. It's possible I need help, but I enjoy myself too much. My sweet scoutfinch, on the other hand, is less comfortable with (and therefore, I'd say, more healthy about) competition.

But first, some background: I have a huge family, and we are all very close and all in each other's business (in a good way). My grandmother is an identical twin; she had three daughters (my mom is the youngest), and her sister had three sons. Each summer, everyone gathers in Breckenridge, Colorado, for a week-long reunion. The twins and their descendants, as well as their older brother's son and his family, and my grandfather's older brother and his descendants (and anyone else PMK decides to invite) all stay in the same beautiful house, the Mauna Kea Lodge. At other times of year, as many of us who can meet for other visits.

The last few years in Breckenridge, we have organized an intra-family bocce ball tournament. This summer, scoutfinch and I partnered up to play our cousin and her husband in the first round. We lost. I was disappointed, but she exhaled loudly, "Thank g-d!" at the final score. At Thanksgiving a few years ago, we organized a touch football game. She came in the house, sweaty and exhausted, and vented, "I don't think I should play this game anymore. I just . . . get . . . too upset."

I think I get my impulse from the twins: as lovely as they are, they also have an obsessive need to be right. So, it's not my fault. Which means . . . wait for it . . .

I win!