My wife and I lead fairly boring lives. Just take a look at this site that I helped build and you’ll see. Doing constructive things is not something of which I am fond.

To that end, she and I have developed a fierce Yahtzee rivalry. It started out as playing a game to decide who was going to do the dishes or wash the dog. Simple domestic chores meted out through a little competitive banter. It was clean, fast, fun, and efficient.

Then we got Triple Yahtzee. That’s when things turned ugly.

Last night, the darkness surrounded us like the cool breeze blowing through the window. Wagers on the game escalated from the trundles of domestic bliss to the wacked out dares of middle school. And then the final game.

As the clock struck 2a.m., the final challenge was announced. I had been on a good streak that evening and felt not one twinge of fear when the wager of the winner giving the loser a haircut was agreed upon. I knew that I would win and that I would defer the spoils of victory in light of the importance of hair to a female.

Sometime around my fourth or fifth declaration of WTF?!, I lost the game. Thinking that my beautiful, loving wife would not want to collect her pound of flesh, I wallowed in mock fear. Then she brought out the clippers.

I regained consciousness this morning with Tim, the barber, laughing hysterically after attempting to repair the damage she had done. Even though I now look like an escaped mental patient, the whole thing was pretty damned funny. There’s lots of lessons to be learned here, the least of which is: Never gamble with a woman. Anything that can bleed for a week each month and not die is inherently evil.