Every once in awhile there's a post here that resurrects ancient memories, and this is one. When my wife and I were first dating (as teenagers) the subject of arm wrestling came up. That's another story that I've shared here in times past. She kind of bragged that she had beaten her brother, much to his shock, and had actually beaten the guy that she had sorta dated before me. He was cool and liked to hold himself as a bad ass, but obviously that was an illusion.
I asked if she thought that she could beat me. She smiled and said, "probably." So we moved our cokes to the side of the table and clasped hands. I was quite sure that I was going to win. I was well ahead of the curve when it came to weight lifting. My 225 pound bench press, meager by today's standards, established me as one of the stronger guys in the school. I recall her gripping my hand tightly and trying to budge me. Then she started to turn red, and even began to lean. Still didn't budge. I looked into her eyes lovingly and said, "Let me know when you want to start." Her eyes widened as I gently pushed the back of her hand onto the table. She looked astonished but obviously was impressed.
I heard all about it from her best friend (my mole) in Homeroom on the following Monday, so I had clearly passed the test. Would we be married today if she had beaten me? Maybe, maybe not. Fortunately, kicking my ass at miniature golf wasn't of the same importance.