"Do you want to play another game of Spit?" my nephew Kyle asked.
He's 25, but he's an only child, so he missed out on those endless summer days of playing cards with siblings. In our house, the fast-paced game of card stacking was always a favorite, but until this weekend? Kyle had never played. Still, he's usually up for a little competition, and I, if I do say so myself, am a good teacher, so soon we were happily slapping cards on piles. He picked the game up pretty quickly, but even so, he was facing over five decades of experience; I may be old, but I've still got the muscle memory to make a formidable opponent.
We'd been playing for a while when he posed his question, though, and I declined the challenge, thinking ahead to all the things I still needed to accomplish on this Saturday.
"What? Are you tired of winning?" he taunted me with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in his blue eyes.
I laughed. "It's on!" I answered. "I think I can beat you at least one more time!"
