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When to fold 'em

From February 2007 St. Thomas Super Shopper

My back went kerflooey the week before Valentines Day. I needed soy milk to accompany the ibuprofen. On a wintry night, my lovely wife Nancy made the ultimate female sacrifice and drove to the store.
Upon her return, she made noble gesture number two and moved not only her car to the garage. She also squeezed my van into the driveway.
The soy milk from the store happened to be frozen. I took the medication straight and left the carton in the fridge to thaw.
In the wee hours, I levered myself out of bed for more drugs. Soy milk was still frozen. I left it on the counter to melt before breakfast.
Next morning, I’m about to down more ibuprofen (kids, don’t try this at home) with soy milk. I shake the carton.
I say, “It’s still frozen.”
She says, “I was up in the night. I saw you left it on the counter and put it back in the fridge.”
Somewhere deep in the recesses of the male brain lurks the desire to be right, at least once, about some miniscule, insignificant aspect of domestic affairs. Instinctively sniffing out such a moment, I say, “I was up in the night before you. It was still frozen. I left it on the counter to thaw.”
And she says, with a sweet swiftness no male will ever top, “Don’t ask me to do anything for you ever again. Next time, you can back your own van in.” And goes back to her coffee.
In Texas Hold ‘em, this has a name. It’s an all-in moment. You have a ten and a jack. You want to see the flop, that’s all, have a little fun with the hand. You bet 10 per cent of your chips. And somebody says, “I’m all in.”
What do you do next?
Cards are one thing, marriage another.
You fold, buddy. You fold.
You want to win at something, head out to the garage. Or go play with the remote control.