“My Precious”


There are many things that I do better than Poptart. I’m better at offending people. I’m a better dancer. I have bigger boobs (I guess this one does really count considering he’s a man but I’m really struggling here). I have a louder voice. I’m a better cook. The dog likes me more. I’m pretty sure I could beat him in a foot race. And I could damn sure last longer on Survivor. Other than that, Poptart is better at EVERYTHING.

Normally this doesn’t bother me. I’m okay with the fact that he’s smarter, he’s well liked and respected, and people find him more interesting. These are all things I can live with. What I have a hard time with is the fact that he beats me at every single game we play. I mean EVERY game. It’s ridiculous! Guitar Hero, Grand Theft Auto, Battleship, Putt-Putt, Candyland, Monopoly. I‘ve even flashed him during Monopoly just so he would let me go around the board one more time. As the daughter of a professional card player my thinking is, if I can just get around the board one more time, I know I can beat him. The fact that I have no money and no properties left doesn’t even register in my brain. All I know is, I show the Girls and I get to roll again. Boardwalk? Shiiiiiiit.

I had just about given up all together, when we got the Lord Of The Rings version of Risk. It was a beautiful game. Good vs. Evil. Right vs. Wrong. Poptart vs. Me. So I took the side of Evil and he took the happy side with rainbows and ponies. We placed our men strategically around the board and we began to battle. “Engage! Engage!” I would scream at him. Slowly but surely I began to take ground. First getting a stronghold on Mordor and eventually Gondor. Just when he thought he had me figured out, I found his weakness. The sea.

“Wait. What? I didn’t know you could attack from the water,” he whined. “Oh you didn’t?” I said in my most innocent voice, meanwhile on the inside I was thinking, “HAHAHA, Suck It! Pathetic mortal!” After 2 ½ hours and 1 ½ bottles of wine, I was victorious!! I wanted to shout it to the mountaintops: “I’ve finally beaten him! By God it’s a miracle!”

The beauty of the Lord Of The Rings version of Risk is that it comes with a plastic replica of THE RING. Bragging rights. I wore that little plastic ring with pride. I wore it everywhere! To work. To bed. In the shower. I never took it off. When he would talk to me I always made sure to put my hand on my face to flash The Ring so he could bask in my awesomeness.

Poptart finally snapped. My gloating had pushed him over the edge. Honestly, I’m surprised it had taken so long. He grabbed me and wrestled me to the ground, took my right hand and pried off The Ring. As he ran off with my Ring I yelled behind him “Nooooooo! My Precious!!!!!”

He came back smiling.
“Where is my Ring?” I asked.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Give it back.” I said, with a slightly psychotic look in my eyes.
“No.”

So want did I do? I did what any wife would do when she has a score to settle. I hid his iPod. He then took my favorite pair of black patent leather boots. I grabbed his PDA. This went on and on. We were both frantically running around, grabbing each other’s things so fast we couldn’t keep track of where we were hiding them. And then he made the ultimate mistake.

“I just hid your weed.” He said.
That meant WAR!
Not one to back down from a challenge, I knew I couldn’t hide just anything. This was going to have to be big.
“Try and find your memory cards to your Playstation.” I responded.
“You didn’t.”
“Oh… I did.”
“Okay Stacy, this isn’t funny. I have my entire Tiger Woods season saved on there! I’ve finally gotten my golfer maxed out! You know I have a tournament this weekend with Rick. Give them back.”
“No weed, no memory sticks.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “Let’s just play nice and give each other everything back.”
“Deal.” I said.

One by one, all the missing items started to reappear. Except for two. Poptart’s memory cards, and my “Precious”. In all the madness, we had both forgotten where we had hidden these items. At least I did. I can’t speak for Mr. Shifty.

About 4 months later Poptart was making his lunch when I heard him say “Hooooly shit.” He had gone into our cookie tin to get a bag of chips when he felt something at the bottom. He had found his long lost memory cards. He was elated, but still no sign of The Ring.

Time passed. We got pregnant. We had a daughter. We moved to Colorado for a year, and then moved to Houston. Still no Ring. What’s the point of playing the game without The Ring? This last Christmas I couldn’t take it anymore. I went online and bought a new ring. A sturdy metal one with real Elfin writing on the inside. It was beautiful. I thought to myself, “This is going to be a great Christmas present for Poptart. He is going to laugh his ass off.” I wrapped it and placed it lovingly under the Christmas tree with his other gifts. I was right. He thought it was hysterical.

A couple of months after Christmas, with new ring in hand and daughter napping, we sat down to play Risk again. There was a strange sound coming from the bottom of the box. So we pulled everything out and there it was the whole time. As I looked in the box I could feel its power over take my mind as I said, “Welcome home… My Precious.”

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

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5 Responses to ““My Precious””

  1. Krista Peavy Says:

    We loves the precious. No I thought it was stupid no don’t say that it was good we likes sees we likes.

  2. OMG~!! My poptart beats me at EVERYTHING as well. Very frustrating!!! I am on my way to the store now to buy RISK.Wish me luck I want my Precious!!!!

  3. That was the most awesome of stories!! I could so picture me and my poptart doing the same thing to each other…how fun!! LOVED IT!!!

    Stacy, you rock, and I hope to one day meet you in person!! Love you girl!

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