I’ve learned a great deal about the relationship between the Gods and humans from observing my relationship with my child.  For example…

My dear friend, Spiralady, has been babysitting my daughter this summer.  Monday, I came home to find out that they’ve been playing poker.  Since I’d yet to introduce my girl into the underworld of cards and dames, this means she (a) learned to play just yesterday, and (b) got good enough to whip Spiralady’s butt in under two hours. This does not bode well for the upcoming teenage years.  (Note to self:  increase contributions to Emergency Fund for therapy.)

You know, if Rhetorical and Question ever got together and had a child, its name would be Duh.  That’s the answer I got  — DUH! — when I asked my kid if she liked playing cards with her self-selected grandmother.  From what I understand, there was a fair pile of pasta shapes in front of my nine-year-old from not one, not two, but three versions of poker.  I know now why they call them poker sharks.  I think I saw every one of my kid’s teeth, her grin was so big with pride for trouncing grandma on a game grandma taught her.

I mentioned it was a good thing they were betting pasta and not chocolates, or money.

Her response:  “But I won, Mom… hello?!”  Ok, she has my smartass gene.

Back to me:  “What you won is the honor of putting the fusilli back in the pantry.”  Don’t try and outsnark your mother.  You might be the “improved version”, but I’ve got 26 more years of practice than you, and that number ain’t ever gonna get any smaller.

Moral of this Story: Natural talent is good, but Momma Goddess  “holds the ace”.  Remember that next time you think you’re “all dat”.  You might find yourself putting YOUR fusilli (or whatever it is you call your arse) back in the pantry.