Rock-Paper-Scissors

Yesterday, Smith and I were sitting on the couch relaxing, when we decided to play Rock-Paper-Scissors. Like everything in Smith's life, it soon became competitive. After the second game, Smith was already cheating. I scolded him, but he was relentless. He was doing anything and everything he could to catch a break.

He tried "The Delay" (When one player delays committing to a hand formation until the last second in an attempt to glimpse the opponent's hand maneuvering). He tried "The Countdown Malfunction" (When one player throws down on four instead of three after the opponent has already shown his formation). And in a last-ditch, pitiful attempt, he tried "The Switcheroo" (After both players have thrown down, one player changes formations to whatever defeats the opponent and explains, "I forgot I wanted to be rock"). That was the last straw.

"Smith, I'm not going to keep playing if you're going to cheat." I warned paternally. Smith dropped his hands defiantly, pursed his lips, and gave me a menacing stare. After a moment, he silently extended his left hand, palm facing up, with his right hand in a fist. I interpreted this gesture to mean: This one is for the game. "Okay, one more." I said. "You're not going to cheat?" Smith shook his head. I accepted. Then just before we started the countdown, I saw the corner of his mouth turn up.

"One, two, three!" we said in unison. I threw down paper. I looked at Smith's hand. His index finger was pointed directly at me and his thumb stood up vertically. "Gun beats paper. I win. BANG!"