Not winning.

Another day, another drubbing at noughts and crosses at the hands of my 5-year-old son.  We played seven games and I only won two – and I had to really try for my last victory because I began to worry he’d question my credibility if he won all the games.  I mean I’m not good at games (it’s a concentration thing) but even I wouldn’t be so shit as to lose eight simple children’s games in a row, right?  Right?

At the moment he’s particularly into rankings.  I hope this isn’t a school thing but knowing Hong Kong society in general, and its proliferation of Tiger Mothers, I guess it probably is.

We had a little chart totting up the scores, and at the end I wrote “winner” under his name.  He picked up the pencil to write “loser” under mine, but before he could begin I delivered a surprisingly on-point – for 7.30am on a Sunday – pontification on not calling other people losers.

He picked up my message straightaway:

Ironically, I’m taking this as a massive triumph for Sloth Mother.  The lesson that celebrating besting others isn’t always admirable would never be endorsed by a Tiger Mother!

(Unfortunately my “not winner” status means I’ll never have a chance to be Charlie Sheen’s Hot Steno, despite having a highly refined capability to do steno while wearing trackpants.  Fuck it.)


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