Is this who I am now? A holiday puzzle master? Or puzzle dork? And an injured, hobbled, doubled-over one at that.
The things we find ourselves doing over the holidays …
I’m not normally a puzzle kind of guy. But it had been raining. My daughter was getting over being sick. We were all cooped up in the house a couple days before Christmas, watching so much television that I could literally feel my brain cells snapping like popcorn.
“We need to play a game,” I finally said.
But there are only so many times that you can be beaten by a 13-year-old kid before you either resort to bourbon or throw in the towel.
So my wife offered a suggestion in her chipper way: “How about a puzzle?!?”
And that was when it all started to spiral out of control. When I was swallowed deep, down into the belly of the beast. Consumed by a monster. Overtaken and addicted to the thrill of fitting all those oddly-shaped bits of cardboard together.