Crossing that bridge, and liking it

This past weekend, I was the victim of an undercover bridge-napping. But before I tell this sad tale of sneakiness and deceit, you have to know that 1) three of my good girl friends love to play bridge, and 2) they never can play when we get together because the fourth person - me - has a pathological fear of the game.

I heartily dislike bridge.

It started in childhood, I think. My parents are bridge players and members of bridge clubs, and many Saturday afternoons I'd have to help clean house when it was their turn to host - and many Sunday mornings I'd have to listen to mysterious play-by-play dissections of the previous evening: "Well, I bid two no-trump because I thought you had all those honors," and "We could have made book if you'd trump that jack."

While other people in my generation rebelled against their parents through drugs and rock music, I took my stand by refusing to play bridge. And while I (hope I) have grown out my teenage-rebellion phase, I've clung to my anti-bridge stance for years and resisted all attempts to teach me how to play.

For one thing, it's hard. I mean, you have to count points and remember cards and figure out who's going to play what and when and why. For something called a "game," it sure is complicated.

For another thing, what's with all this secret code stuff? If everybody knows that an opening bid of two no-trump means you have a lot of points, then how is it a secret?

These three friends have tried to shame me into learning their favorite card game, but it never works.

So as we four planned a recent girls-only lakehouse-rental MUFW - Makeup-Free Weekend - they assured me we would just eat and talk and relax.

Until I came upstairs to the kitchen and found them all innocently sitting around the table with coffee cups in their hands.

"Hey, what are y'all doing?" I asked as I eagerly hopped into the empty chair.

"Oh, nothing," they all answered sweetly, moving their arms to reveal already-dealt hands of cards.

"And, oh, look what I happen to have," one said, moving some sheets of paper over to me. "It's a list of bridge hands and tips on how to bid. I wonder how this got here?"

Their plot had worked perfectly. And you know what? Bridge isn't all that bad, especially when you've got patient teachers. I even understood it - a little, at least.

But when we put away the cards and they asked me what I'd learned, I had to be honest: "Not to get in the car with you all again."

I didn't mean it, though. I'm already practicing for a rematch.

Cathy Wood is a freelance writer living in the Shoals. For more from her, visit TimesDaily.com.