By Leigh Novak
Wheel of Fortune, you let me down.
I have been loyal to your spinning tomfoolery since I was but a young, pastel-clad lass, sitting beside my mother, who always called out the answers much too quickly for my taste. Nowadays, I don’t particularly care for pastels, and I’ve blossomed into a vowel-resisting, puzzle-solving, R-S-T-L-N-E-ing mother-fucker, mother-fucker. I maintain an average 98% accuracy in correctly-guessing puzzles well before the idiots on the show know them. And I keep my own statistics.
I inherited the “Wheel gene” from my mother, although this was as much nurture as nature. In order to stay afloat with mom, my sister and I had to seriously and sternly narrow in on becoming the best Wheel Watchers that we could be. My mom spared no one – age, size, weight class.
My mom also got me into crosswords at a very young age, for which I am terribly grateful. While Wheel may have exercised my competitive side, crosswords satisfied my boredom. And also taught me that if you enjoy your mind, you can never really be bored. Still to this day, I always travel with one or two books of crosswords in my purse. You won’t find me resorting to Us Weekly at the doctor’s office. Or when I am getting my oil changed, and the crinkled stacks of whored magazines, groped by the greasy, dirty fingers of everyone who has recently sat in that waiting room, scream up to me that BRITNEY’S CRAZIER THAN YOU THOUGHT! or THIS ASSHOLE IS NOW DATING THAT ASSHOLE, SINCE THEY BOTH CHEATED ON AND DUMPED THEIR PREVIOUS SIGNIFICANT ASSHOLES! I have a very low tolerance for these diversions, though I confess my interest will be graciously piqued the day they boast something like WE ADMIT: CHILD STARS ARE INESCAPABLY FUCKED!
I prefer word games.
But Wheel, you have let me down. You aren’t what you used to be.
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Posted on January 28, 2008