Rummy 500 rage

Tim has won every game of Rummy 500 we have ever played in our 30 years. Every game. Every time.

Last weekend while camping in Oscoda, I decided I would again try to break the streak. He won the first hand, the second hand, the 10th hand. I sat there in my (usual) misery and said, “How about we change the rules of the game?”

I dealt:
10. He won.
12. He won.
15. He won.

I decided the real problem was that I wasn’t shuffling well enough. I set about shuffling with great precision and flair, with full-on bridges and every-other-card mastery.

Tim said the only thing he could come up with to salvage a bit of my pride:

“Wow, impressive!”
“You’re a pro!”
“Perfect bridge!”

I let him say it all.

“What if I dealt HALF A DECK each?” I asked, the deck nearly reduced to powder in my hands by then.

It was getting late, the light was dim, the campground air was thick with campfire smoke. And while I had trouble holding half a deck in my hands with authority, I was SURE this would get me IN the game before it was over.

“You go first,” he said.

I didn’t argue. I had some gold in my hand and I was ready to mine.

I laid my cards down with a flourish: All four 5s, three 6s and three 7s. (No face cards, of course.)

“Wow! Nice!” he said, letting the moment marinate.

Then it was his turn.

He laid down the 2 of diamonds.
Then the 3.
Then the 4.

Weak.

“Nice run,” I said.

But. His diamond mine was still producing.

Then came the 6.
Then the 7, 8 and 9.
Then the 10.
The J.
The Q.
The K.
Then…the ace.

The only diamond he was missing… was the 5 I’d played like the winning goal in the World Cup.

I spluttered. I screeched. I took a swing.

His Fresca went SAILING across the table toward the fire pit, facedown in the dirt.

Then I threw my cards over his “run” and jumbled them all up across the length of the picnic table.

I was 8 years old if I was a day.

“Really?” he asked.

“REALLY.” I said.

We hadn’t camped with just the two of us very much in the last 23 years since having kids. That night, we found ourselves alone in a campground we usually shared with a ton of people. But our friends had left earlier, our kids and parents were 3 hours away, and we had no one left but each other.

“You are unbelievably lucky in the wife department, too,” I said.

“I’m thirsty,” he said.

We started to laugh, just the two of us at an old picnic table in a smoky campground, remembering how much we liked each other.

Even after Rummy.