You win, I lose. It's a common theme in my life. My track record with winning is about as sad as an empty Poland Spring bottle on the floor of a dingy subway station – with the label peeled off. I'm not all too sure where this misfortune comes from; perhaps in a past life I lived on the 13th floor of an apartment building, slept under a ladder, and threw rocks at mirrors for a living.
I was never in the math bee. I never won any position I ran for in student council. I lost to a sixth-grader when I was an eighth-grader in the oratorical contest. I misspelled “license” as a seventh-grader in the spelling bee. And my freshman year girlfriend beat me in our first cross-country race by three whole minutes. Humiliating? Why, yes – yes, it was. My losses are about as casual and commonplace as drinking a cup of coffee while reading The New York Times on a Sunday morning.
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