I Hate Guessing Games

I’m not going to guess your weight, your height or your age. I’m not going to guess your thoughts, your feelings, or what you are trying to say. I hate guessing games. I’m not particularly good at them. I don’t think they are especially canny or clever or charming.  Playing guessing games spends my time in ways I can’t get back. If you insist…and sometimes you do, in playing such a game, I will most likely imagine the absurd and offer up the ridiculous. It saves us both the embarrassment of me getting it wrong. If you want me to guess what happened today, I will guess a cat pissed on your shoe or the store clerk discharged her dentures at you while in the checkout line. Perhaps old Uncle Willard decided to become a burlesque dancer after all of these years.

It’s not that I am a “spoiled sport,” it’s just that I have a renewed appreciation for the simple and direct.  The direct approach is a single steel blade. Guessing games and their volley of answers are a thousand stinging bees. They are a thousand opportunities to jack up my intonation and tone, my interest or disinterest, my memory or lack thereof, my careful or careless choice of words, my facial expressions and body language. I don’t want to have to follow my answers with things like, “I didn’t mean it that way” or “I didn’t I rolled my eyes!” “I can’t remember” or “you were angry over that?” Guessing games are tiresome and tedious and… I just don’t want to play.

 

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