This past Thanksgiving Day weekend marked a very special occasion; we hosted my husband’s siblings and their families, and I gotta say, it was a blast. We cooked. We ate. We corralled our children. And… we played Scrabble. You know, the fabulous word game that’s been bringing families and friends closer for generations. No surprises here.

What is shocking, however, is that this weekend marked my maiden voyage into Scrabbledom. Scrabblelage. Scrabblelammadingdong. How have I never played Scrabble before?!

World, you’ve been holding out on me. So called “friends” and “family,” how could you keep this from me? How is it that a former English teacher has never played this game? How can you possibly claim affection for me and yet keep me from what would’ve been–could’ve been!–a true passion of mine all these years? What? Were you intimidated by mad spelling skills? My nerdy love for words?

Only one was kind enough to share the gift that is Scrabble with me. Only one: my sister-in-law Taylor. My simpatico. Together, we coerced the entire family into playing a round of THE game with us this weekend. Each and every person who was able to spell (my 10-year-old nephew, too) played a game of Scrabble with us. ALL participated in the family Scrabble-bonding… Save one.

The Hubs.

Fear for him, folks, for it is ON like Donkey Kong. Hubs: I challenge you to a duel. A duel of words. Mmmwhaaaaaaa Ha Haaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Nobody keeps Scrabble from Baby. In a corner. Nobody puts Baby in the corner without Scrabble. Whatever.

“Master of Trash-talking” I am not.