“What
is a five-letter word where the third letter
is E and the letter T is also
somewhere in the word?” Sam asked Alan, his
lifelong friend, as the two old men
sat on the wooden park bench on a chilly
morning.
“Why?”
Alan asked.
“I’m
playing Wordle, a word game where you must
find the five-letter word in the
puzzle. Everyone’s playing it.”
“Never
heard of it.” Alan said, reading his
newspaper.
“Just
help me out.”
The
trees reached their naked arms into the
vibrant blue sky. The morning sun
thawed the small patches of snow that
littered the ground. Dried colorful
leaves cartwheeled down the sidewalk. Both
men were dressed warmly and wore
wool herringbone caps.
“I
am not helping you cheat at whatever game
you are playing.”
“It
isn’t cheating,” Sam said.
Alan
shouted good morning to a group of female
joggers who approached them. A few
waved at him and a couple shouted, “Hello
Alan!”
They
were regulars at the park, too. Both men’s
eyes watched them pass in front of
them and bounce away down the sidewalk.
Once
consciousness returned to their brains, Alan
continued. “Of course, it is
cheating! In any game, the point is to rely
on your own thinking to solve the
puzzle. Googling for help or asking others
is not fair. It is cheating.”
Sam
grumbled. “You always have been a goody two
shoes legalistic bastard.”
“Thanks.
I rarely go out with one shoe these days.”
Alan chuckled as he turned to the
newspaper’s crossword puzzle.
“Thanks
to you, my wife will beat me today.” Sam
frowned. He was on his fourth attempt
out of six. Every day he worked hard to
outdo his wife’s score. She was the
smart one with a PhD in mathematics who
taught college all her life. Sam
struggled to get his GED and worked as a
plumber. Although Sam eventually owned
his own plumbing business and earned
threefold his wife’s salary, he was always
aware of his lack of a formal education.
“You
shouldn’t compete with your wife,” Alan
said.
“It’s
not a competition. I just want to show her
I’m not a simpleton.”
Alan
chuckled. “She married you thirty-seven
years ago, a decision that belies her
intelligence.”
“Ha,
ha, you old coot. Your jokes were old before
Henny Youngman died.”
“What?
Youngman’s dead? When?” Alan feigned a
surprised look on his face.
“He
died in ‘98, but your jokes are older than
that! Now, help me out here.”
“If
you have to cheat, you aren’t winning.
Anyway, how often do you beat her
score?”
Sam
scrunched his face into a grimace. “I only
tie or win twice a week. We each
post our score on Facebook. That’s why I
need your help. She solved it today on
four, and this is my chance to tie her.
Otherwise, I’ll lose, and this will be
the fifth loss this week.”
“Does
she know she’s competing with you?”
“You
know my wife. She doesn’t have a competitive
bone in her body.”
“You’re
one silly old man,” Alan said, laughing.
“Come
on!” Sam said. “An E in third position and T
somewhere.”
Alan
sighed, then said, “Cheat.”
“Just
help me, Alan!”
“Cheat!”
“Stop
that!” Sam yelled back.
“Cheat!
You dolt!” Alan screamed this time.
“I’m
not a dolt. Not as smart as my wife, but...
wait, what did you say?”
“Cheat!
You bloody idiot!”
Sam
entered the letters into his app.
“Whoa!
I tied her!” Sam yelped.
“Quiet,
you fool, here come the joggers again.”
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