Chip Bag

I love boardgames. Honestly, I do. My affinity for these childhood relics can even eclipse my profound love of tasty food. This simple quote from M explains exactly how much I cherish gastronomic experiences: "I am so depressed now. You know how I am. When I have bad food, it's like someone just broke up with me." That should give you a picture of the enormity in which I relish the delicacies placed before my quivering lips and ravenous eyes.

However, this post isn't about food. It's about Scrabble. I fancy Scrabble mostly because of my provocative and unusual opponents.

Now, for me, I have an extensive vocabulary - that's good. But, I've always had trouble spelling - that's bad. I'm getting better at spelling every day - that's good. My games of Scrabble resemble a fuzzy mix of a C.M. Coolidge painting, an episode of Seinfield, a tense courtroom trial, and New Year's Eve in Times Square - typically in that order. THIS is a VERY good thing.

So here we are, on an intensely hot night, surrounding the colorful cardboard playing field. It's half way through the game. Tensions run high, and intelligences are brought to the breaking point. Words range from 'the' and 'gap' to 'spelt' and 'sweet' to 'chiropractor' and 'osteopath'. Slyly surveying the other players, R picks up his wood tiles and places them confidently on their spaces. Gasping at his placement and snorting, I demand, "Chipbag?! What the hell is that?!?"

With watery puppy dog eyes, R fawningly defends himself, "You know, a chipbag! Like when you want some Doritos, you reach for a chipbag and satisfy your craving." He lovingly shoots the group a disarming smile.

Not buying it, E rebuffs R's coy gestures from across the table, "Well, I don't know about your smelly kingdom there on the porcelain throne R, but I either grab my Doritos from a bag of chips, or a bowl of chips. I've never been sold, offered, or seen anything referred to... as a 'chipbag'. In other words, you're full of it, R!" The rest of us lightheartedly giggle in agreement. Taking E's stance, I challenge the spelling, haul out the collegiate dictionary, and don't find an entry for the mythic 'chipbag'. "Fancy that, R. Pick up your tiles and lose your next turn," E smirks.

I'm next. "There, three words, two of them double word, and one double letter on the 3rd. 36 points!" V blasts me with a venomous scowl. His head to the side, eyebrows rising, V pipes up, "I don't think that 'eh' is a word, BP."

"'Eh' is too a word," I bravely say, pointing at the dictionary to make my point, "If you don't believe me, then check it!" Haughtily finishing, I challenge, "I dare you! Go ahead and lose your next turn, because I'm right, and you know it!" The table is silent as each player weighs his cards. Slowly, V reaches for the hardback, and opens to eh. There it is in black and white - a common term from Canada. "Viva La Canada!" I chirp up and smugly smile at V.

Sorely admitting defeat, V spouts out, "Damn you, BP! I hate how you cheat!" Looking at the others, he concludes, "You never know when to challenge BP because he went to a good college, and you don't know when BP's making up words or not." To which I respond, "Well, now V, no need to be angry. That wasn't cheating. That was a good play. I never cheat; I just don't know how to spell half the time - you just have to figure out when that is. Now, it's S's turn; you lose yours for calling it wrong," tossing him the rule book, "It's in the rules, feel free to look those up too." S, who's spouse is a Canadian citizen, chuckles toward his chest as he places his tiles and whispers, "I knew that 'eh' was a word."