The game that defined everything that was wrong with my marriage
That's an easy one: ping pong. Table tennis.
We played a lot. During ski season pre-dinner ping pong was a great tradition.
And we were well matched. Over hundreds of games I'm guessing pretty close to 50/50 win-loss results.
The matches, including long fun rallies, fell into three general patterns.
1. My ex would get ahead early,
2. We'd switch leads several times and often end up in long "win by two" duals
3. I would get ahead early.
In the first two categories, we had fun. The third category was a disaster and I dreaded it.
My ex would give up. She'd swing carelessly and drop her hands. Her serves would become random. Her face showed how unhappy she was.
I'd react by getting sloppy and often a game would go from say 10-2 to 18-18. I usually won because I'd be frustrated by her lack of sportsmanship and would fight back at the end.
How unfair. The lesson in table tennis was the same as in our entire marriage: If I did well, the game stopped. If I had good luck (say a tough return came back as a winner), the resentment pounded me like a barrage of forehand slams.
I was not allowed to improve. And I didn't.
I got worse for 30 years.
Now, I hate fucking table tennis!
We played a lot. During ski season pre-dinner ping pong was a great tradition.
And we were well matched. Over hundreds of games I'm guessing pretty close to 50/50 win-loss results.
The matches, including long fun rallies, fell into three general patterns.
1. My ex would get ahead early,
2. We'd switch leads several times and often end up in long "win by two" duals
3. I would get ahead early.
In the first two categories, we had fun. The third category was a disaster and I dreaded it.
My ex would give up. She'd swing carelessly and drop her hands. Her serves would become random. Her face showed how unhappy she was.
I'd react by getting sloppy and often a game would go from say 10-2 to 18-18. I usually won because I'd be frustrated by her lack of sportsmanship and would fight back at the end.
How unfair. The lesson in table tennis was the same as in our entire marriage: If I did well, the game stopped. If I had good luck (say a tough return came back as a winner), the resentment pounded me like a barrage of forehand slams.
I was not allowed to improve. And I didn't.
I got worse for 30 years.
Now, I hate fucking table tennis!
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