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I beat my husband the other night. I couldn't help it, he asked for it.

"I'm tired of playing games," I said. "How much more do you think you can take?"

"Come on," he coaxed. "Just one more round of Battleship."

He shouldn't have pushed me like that. After the third beating he reeled slightly, blinking in bewilderment.

"How can you do that?" Staring at the ships on the computer screen, he added, "I can't even find your aircraft carrier. What kind of goofy strategy are you using?"

"It's called 'hide the ships where you can't find them.'"

"That's ridiculous. I should be able to find them all." This is from a man who demands daily where I've hidden his reading glasses. "You must be cheating."

He shouldn't have accused me of cheating. I demolished his fleet three more times. Even his PT boat wasn't safe.

"Just a few more rounds," he mumbled.

"Haven't you had enough punishment?"

He shook his head. "Are you kidding? I'm just getting warmed up. What, are you scared of losing?"

"I've been petrified the whole time."

"Very funny. Come on, set up for the next round."

I put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, "It's late, honey, we need to get to sleep." Once the lights were out, I pretended not to hear him whimper, "Just one more round." I felt like a sadist.

For the rest of the week he begged me for more. I only replied, "Not tonight, I have a headache."

Several nights later we visited another couple. After dinner they invited us to play games. My husband's face paled and he excused himself to the restroom, claiming a possible case of distemper. The wife gave me a look eloquent with sympathy.

"You beat your husband, don't you?"

"Only at Battleship. He asks for it, though."

"They always do." She stared at the husband, who fiddled nervously with a card deck. "Try beating this one at Scrabble. He'll keep you up all night until he finally wins. The tiles are so stained with sweat you can't read the letters any more."

"And the dictionary?"

She shuddered. "Don't ask."

Ads for popular games claim their products bring people closer together. So does hand-to-hand combat.

Yet, after much thought and research, I've finally found the perfect game for my husband and me to enjoy. There will be no more complaining, no suspicion of cheating, no criticizing. I call it "Strip Twister."

The way I figure it, my husband will never know if he's winning or losing, and even if he does, he probably won't care.

- Kathy Turski

Kathy Turski writes the way she looks - short and funny. She's published in Flush Fiction, A Bubba In Time Saves None, The Anthology From Hell, Uncle John's Bathroom Reader and by Aurora Wolf Press. Her latest work, "My Inner Fat Girl," appears in You & Me Magazine. Kathy lives in North Texas with her husband, clerks for a local library and loves old movies, baking and coming up with weird story ideas - mainly fueled by caffeine and chocolate.