Saturday night I had this Grand Plan to eat a delicious burger at Stanich’s while drinking PBR and watching the Oregon/Arizona Game. I thought about this burger all day and looked forward to 6 o’clock when I’d be sinking my teeth into it.

Instead, I was forced to accompany the boy and his twin up to our favorite local wine bar for the finals of the super prestigious Yahtzee tournament. They both found themselves in the finals after weeks of qualifying rounds. The boy was in for having the most wins, and his twin was in for having the most losses.

Aside: I was actually very, very scared that they were both in this tournament. These two are 38 years old and yet they bicker like the are 5 year olds. I knew that there was a good chance that one of them would win the entire tournament and then hold it over the other one’s head until next year.

Anyway, assuming that I’d be able to relax while they both played in the tournament, I ordered a glass of bubbly and removed my book from my purse and was ready to experience France with Julia Child. Tournament time came and only 5 of the 6 competitors had arrived I was asked to sit in for the no-show. Eager for a chance to take bragging rights from the boys, I agreed.

There were 2 tables of 3 players. The first player to win 2 games would advance to the second round. I sat at a table with two other women and very quickly noticed that I wasn’t quite welcome at this table. I’m not sure what made me think this, but it might have been the “This bitch is a ringer,” comment or the, “You’re not even supposed to be here,” comment from the bitter girl who apparently takes dice game WAY too seriously.

To make a long story (which is still super long) a teeny bit shorter, I won the round with bitter girl and went on to play in the finals against guess who? No, not the boy. That would have been too rich and too heartbreaking of a loss for him. I went on to play the twin. At this point, I decided I was really quite done with playing Yahtzee and turned my strategy to, “Get this done as soon as possible!” And, I rolled those dice with minimum effort (I needed to save my energy for my champagne) and after 3 games, I was crowned (with no actual crown, HMMPH!) the Yahtzee Champion.

Now, if you know me, you’ll know that I LOVE to win. But, these girls who did not win? They scare me. Seriously, over the next hour that we sat there, I was called a bitch more than 10 times (I was playing nice and pretended I didn’t hear them), they insulted the champagne I was drinking (“We only drink Veuve!” LISTEN HERE OLD MAIDS (what? they were complaining about being in their late 30s and being single) Veuve is NOT THAT GOOD, you just think it sounds fancy because the Kardashians drink it), and just basically made it known to whoever would listen that I did NOT deserve my win. I’m quite scared that I’ll either have the tires of my car slashed or they’ll slip some sort of roofie in my “tacky” champagne next time I run into them.

Actually, if we do run into them again, I hope they do mention it, because I’ve thought of AT LEAST 20 witty/snarky things to say to Sore Loser Girls. The options are endless!

And, that is the story of how I became Champion of a really ridiculous dice game. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my congratulation dinner to be at Stanich’s.