Solitaire

My sometimes unhealthy habit of staying up far too late reading is comparable to my grandmother’s entirely unhealthy passion for Solitaire. We both exhibit similar behavior and denial as a result of our separate vices.
I believe that concerning people like her, Solitaire was invented as some sort of cruel cosmic joke. It becomes a game so wickedly delightful that my grandmother cannot understand the severity of her dependency. By her bloodshot eyes and shifty glances, antsy behavior and blisters on her index finger from one too many clicks on the mouse, she is easily distinguished from the novices. Her day consists of a vicious cycle of false hopes and quelled dreams. She usually takes a stroll around the room, casting a few involuntary glances toward the computer, and then decides to take a seat and rest. She has a few regular correspondences, so she c...