Queen of Hearts
Christmas at my girlfriend’s parents’. Poker. There are just three of us left in:
– My girlfriend’s “Monday night is cards night” cousin,
– Me, who, whilst I wouldn’t describe myself as a card sharp, did once play poker every lunchtime for a year, and I reckon that my knowledge of probabilities will help me (eg I know, understand and can explain how many people you’d need in a room for it to be more likely than not that two of them share a birthday – go on, have a guess),
– My girlfriend’s mum.
They say that if you want to know what your girlfriend will be like in 30 years to look at her mother. Well, I’m sitting back with my feet up and my slippers on. My girlfriend's mum is absolutely lovely, and spends most of her spare time enjoying cooking wonderful food. She doesn’t seem to have any other hobby in life (except perhaps finding ever more inventive excuses for accidentally touching my bottom). She does not, as far as I am aware, frequent casinos or gambling websites. When she deals there’s an even chance that we won’t all have the same number of cards, or someone will be trying to get a pair for the Rules of Bridge card. Her attempt at a riffle shuffle nearly blinded half the table. She is either very, very bad at cards or very, very good at bluffing.
The three of us have been locked into the final rounds for over an hour, and she has just asked if she gets anything for all her cards being the same colour. Other choice lines from her this evening have been “What’s a flush again?” (more rounds than not) and “Two pairs? Oh, well done. I only had three nines.”
Do you really need me to tell you who won? I just hope that her daughter’s inherited this skill as well. That way as well as being well-cooked for for life I’ll be very, very rich. And, er, have my bottom touched a lot.
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