Rummy 500 rage

Tim has won every game of Rummy 500 we have ever played in our 30 years. Every game. Every time.

Last weekend while camping in Oscoda, I decided I would again try to break the streak. He won the first hand, the second hand, the 10th hand. I sat there in my (usual) misery and said, “How about we change the rules of the game?”

I dealt:
10. He won.
12. He won.
15. He won.

I decided the real problem was that I wasn’t shuffling well enough. I set about shuffling with great precision and flair, with full-on bridges and every-other-card mastery.

Tim said the only thing he could come up with to salvage a bit of my pride:

“Wow, impressive!”
“You’re a pro!”
“Perfect bridge!”

I let him say it all.

“What if I dealt HALF A DECK each?” I asked, the deck nearly reduced to powder in my hands by then.

It was getting late, the light was dim, the campground air was thick with campfire smoke. And while I had trouble holding half a deck in my hands with authority, I was SURE this would get me IN the game before it was over.

“You go first,” he said.

I didn’t argue. I had some gold in my hand and I was ready to mine.

I laid my cards down with a flourish: All four 5s, three 6s and three 7s. (No face cards, of course.)

“Wow! Nice!” he said, letting the moment marinate.

Then it was his turn.

He laid down the 2 of diamonds.
Then the 3.
Then the 4.

Weak.

“Nice run,” I said.

But. His diamond mine was still producing.

Then came the 6.
Then the 7, 8 and 9.
Then the 10.
The J.
The Q.
The K.
Then…the ace.

The only diamond he was missing… was the 5 I’d played like the winning goal in the World Cup.

I spluttered. I screeched. I took a swing.

His Fresca went SAILING across the table toward the fire pit, facedown in the dirt.

Then I threw my cards over his “run” and jumbled them all up across the length of the picnic table.

I was 8 years old if I was a day.

“Really?” he asked.

“REALLY.” I said.

We hadn’t camped with just the two of us very much in the last 23 years since having kids. That night, we found ourselves alone in a campground we usually shared with a ton of people. But our friends had left earlier, our kids and parents were 3 hours away, and we had no one left but each other.

“You are unbelievably lucky in the wife department, too,” I said.

“I’m thirsty,” he said.

We started to laugh, just the two of us at an old picnic table in a smoky campground, remembering how much we liked each other.

Even after Rummy.

XO,

Kandace

Kandace Chapple
writer and founder of Michigan Girl

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I am a writer from Northern Michigan. For the last 25 years, I have hosted women’s events, published a regional women’s magazine and am always writing about life, loss and shenanigans. I am the founder of Michigan Girl, a community platform with more than 3,600 Facebook members, based in Traverse City, MI. Most of these ladies are actually fun to be around.

My work has appeared in Writer’s Digest, Motherwell, Chicken Soup for the Soul and regional publications (my fav is MyNorth!) throughout the Midwest. I also teach writing classes online for WOW Women on Writing.

I live in Northern Michigan with my husband, two sons, two Golden Retrievers and a mountain bike. Follow me on Facebook here or subscribe to this Substack - you won’t regret it.