Words — by Margaret Hart

My name is Margaret Hart and it's been two minutes since my last game of Words With Friends!

Yes, I am addicted to the game that so many people are playing on their Smartphone and I am not ashamed to admit it. I only recently discovered Words when a friend invited me to play. It didn't take long for me to get hooked. I found myself inviting random players to games when the ones I was playing with my "real" friends slowed. I didn't have patience. I needed my Words fix. I had to find a new opponent. At one point, I had five games going. I have heard the max is 15, so maybe I'm not that addicted after all. 

I can understand why the actor Alec Baldwin allegedly took his iPad into an airplane bathroom recently to play Words when an airline attendant allegedly told him to turn it off because the plane was about to take off.  I, too, found myself sitting on the toilet contemplating my next move just the other day!  I knew then, that I had sunk to a new low. And during a particularly fun game one evening this week, I lost track of time and burned the pork chops. I decided to take a 24 hour break from Words.

My husband has been getting on my case about my playing. He complains that everywhere we go my phone chimes and I'm always tapping on the screen. I could have said the same thing about him! His nose is always in his Blackberry, and he gets so many emails that there's always something buzzing attached to his hip. Even when he gets home from his 14 hour day of work, his nose is in his laptop. I think he's just jealous because he can't play Words on his device.

It took me a few games to figure out some of the strategy to Words. Truth is, after each game where I got the pants beaten off me, I learned something. That drove me to test out what I'd learned on new opponents. Now that I am winning some games, and employing the strategies I've learned, I am suspicious that some of my random opponents (who keep beating me and then asking me to play again) are cheating.  

Cheating? How is that possible? It was my husband who tipped me off. When his nose was in his laptop the other night, he told me about an app that will help you win at Words. It figures. If there's software to help you win your bid on eBay, it stands to reason that someone would develop an app to help you win your game of Words. 

Because I am curious and have to check everything out, I downloaded the app that had the highest ratings and the most buzz, and read the instructions. I got the gist of it, but I never tested it out. I never intended to cheat, I just wanted to see how it worked. After all,  I'm supposed to be good with words. The guilt would be too much for me.

So next time my random opponent—who responds to my moves in under 30 seconds with the most esoteric word choices utilizing the highest scoring letters—asks me to play again, I'm going to politely decline.

I'm old fashioned. I like to lose the old fashioned way.

What's in a Bag? by Margaret Hart

This week I got together with a group of women I hadn't seen in a while for breakfast. As I was driving to the coffee shop, I reached into my purse, as I often do while driving, and dug around for my phone so I could double check the address in my contacts at the next red light. It's true that women can put on lipstick and makeup, brush their hair, and do all manner of things while driving, but I draw the line at texting, emailing, or trying to look up addresses–it's just too dangerous, not to mention illegal in most states.

So there I was stuck in traffic with the perfect opportunity. I looked down and there, staring me in the face, was a zip lock snack bag containing a two-day-old ham and cheese sandwich on whole wheat bread.  "I'm really losing it," I thought.  I didn't even remember putting it in there.  But there it was.  Pink ham. Yellow cheese. Smear of mayo. Yes, I did remember! It grabbed it from the refrigerator as I was racing out the door on Wednesday to serve my volunteer shift at my son's school.  I was so busy checking out books to the first graders that day, I never got to eat.  And so, kind of like the emails that aren't read on time, the sandwich got pushed to the bottom of the abyss of my handbag and, two days later, on Friday, it surfaced.  None too worse for the wear, I might add.  It wasn't moldy and it didn't even smell.

When I got to the coffee shop, my good friend Margot arrived first.  I couldn't wait to tell her.  Her daughter and my son have known each other since diapers, and we've shared a lot of parenting experiences. This morning, her story was just as good.  "Don't feel bad," she said.  "Before I left, I took out a pair of socks, two pairs of underwear, and some crayons."

We continued to compare notes.  My purse: one stretchy monster leftover from Halloween, three washable markers, two tattoos, three stickers, one orange lollipop.  Her purse: crayons, candy, hair clips, and miscellaneous girlie stuff.

Now that our children are potty trained and in elementary school, we've long since traded in our fashionable diaper bags, but we still carry snacks, juice boxes, water bottles, toys, and gadgets in our designer handbags to keep our kids happy–along with an extra pair of underwear or socks for those little emergencies. 

My handbag is also typically filled with notes I make when I'm running errands, despite my Smartphone having so many apps for these kinds of lists that I should never need to write anything down on another sticky note as long as I live. Not to mention that my new phone talks to me, reminding me to pick up milk or stop at the post office to buy stamps. God, I love technology!

In addition to the items I often carry for my family, a quick inventory of my handbag reveals the regular contents, and it's really boring: a zip lock bag filled with store coupons for sales that have mostly expired (guess I didn't have time to get to the sale), my checkbook, sunglasses in a large case that takes up too much space (but for what I paid for those sunglasses, I'll deal, so they don't get scratched), two bottles of hand sanitizer, two tubes of lip balm (after all, it's chapped lips season), a makeup bag filled with makeup I rarely wear during the week, reading glasses, crumbs, miscellaneous papers and receipts, a mint from the salon where I get my mani/peddi, a credit card holder containing store gift cards, my oversized wallet, my key chain with my favorite photo of me and my little man, a digital camera, pocket tissues, gum, and three pens. All hidden inside a really expensive designer handbag that I got for Christmas a couple years ago. You'd think the contents would be more exciting.

On any given week, my handbag serves as my mini-office. It's also a slice of my life at the moment, and a place where I know something can go and hopefully it won't get lost. But chances are, it will get shuffled down to the bottom of the abyss. And next time I'm stuck in traffic, I'll find it. And I'll either eat it or I'll throw it out.