The old saying about tennis suggests that if you play with someone who is better than you, your own skills will improve. I don't like that saying. I don't like to play Scrabble with Heather, an English teacher, because she always wins. David is hit or miss. But Nathan, on the other hand, is a joy to play with.
"What's the score?" He'd done okay, considering his novice status.
"320 to 190," I answered. "But that's not a bad score, I mean, I just scored 385 against my Treo, so you held your own, man."
Nathan swore he would practice and come back over to challenge me and win back his pride. While he was taking it in stride and sharing with me his plan for my ultimate Scrabble demise, I recited the two- and three-letter words in my head and tried to remember those terms I'd looked up in the Physician's Desk Reference. If we teamed up, David and me against Michael and Linda, I might just be able to beat them. But if we lose again, I have a back-up plan -- to challenge the good doctor to an old-fashioned game of cards and slap my way to victory.