That Time Wordle Got Physical
My husband crossed a line
Last Sunday morning I lay in bed, comforter tucked under my arms, holding my phone, playing Wordle in earnest.
Before I could have cared less about Wordle but I buckled under peer pressure.
An immediate enthusiast, I proselytized to my family, convincing my husband to play.
My scores motivated me at first. The game increased in difficulty after the New York Times bought it.
I like to feel smart and win and I was feeling neither smart nor was I winning last weekend.
My husband took his phone to the toilet, emerging minutes later, “Got it!”
I didn’t.
He rolled into bed, wrapping his arms around me, his hands moving toward the front of my shirt.
This was not The Time.
I elbowed him hard. Gave him the death stare.
He got the point. “I’ll go feed the dog now.”






