Love-Love

Every once in a while, Tiffany and I play tennis. We get out the stepping stool and reach up into the recesses of our closet for the neon orange and blue tennis bag I got one Christmas when I was eight or nine and taking lessons.

"Which one is my racket again?" I asked recently when we were getting ready to play.

(Like I said, we only play every once in a while.)

The truth is, neither of us is very good. The problem is, we're both pretty competitive.

The first time we played, a few months into our relationship, we got so mad at each other that Tiffany threw her racket--McEnroe style--and I didn't speak to her for several hours.

Since then, we've toned down our game a bit. When things get a little tense, we emphasize the "love" in the score.

"Forty-Love, as in I love you!" we shout across the court.

Or, if a new game is starting, but the set is going badly for one of us:

"Love-Love... love, love, love, love, love!"

The other day when we played, Tiffany beat me three games in a row.

Then I won two and we started a sixth game.

Tiffany threw the ball up to serve, then caught it again.

"Which one of us is winning?" she called.

"You are!" I shouted back across the court.

I won again and, rather than play a tie-breaker, we decided to call it a day with an even score.

Sometimes it's best to quit while you're ahead.