A sure sign that I married way the hell up

Forget her other attributes--her beauty, her courage, her willingness to apply SoftClaws to all eight of our cats, and her abilities to think independently, sew pretty clothes, make my skin look halfway decent, and do a backflip. The following incident from this morning demonstrates that I hit all six numbers in the Lottery of Love with my L’Ailee.

The Washington Post replaced Dear Abby (which I love, incidentally) with this new puzzle game called Sudoku. Apparently other people know about it and love it. It’s a numbers-and-logic game, which means it’s not really my thing anyway; you can learn more about it here. I gave it a try anyhow. I suck at it. Today, I loudly squealed, “Gaaaaaaah, this *sucks*! Why the fuck did I *bother*?!” and threw it down.

“New York Times crossword?” L’Ailee inquired placidly.
“No, that’s for the bus ,and it‘s not Sunday. I’m trying this stupid game called Sudoku and it sucks. I suck.”
“You do not suck just because there’s a game you’re not good at. Anyway, it’s new. You may simply need practice.”
“No, this is more than ‘needs practice.’ This is, like, tear-my-hair-out frustrating.”
“Well, we certainly can’t have you doing that. Let me see it.”

So she takes a look.
Smiles slightly and says, “Oh, this looks fun.”
“You can have at it,” I say.
She looks at it and frowns for a second. Borrows my pencil and gently erases my marks. Blows away the dust. Takes an intent look . Grinning broadly, eyes shining, she’s filling in all the little squares like a little-square-filling machine. She takes care of a couple of little errors, holds it up, checks her work, and…

“Oh, I solved it! Thank you, Jaya. I’m sorry you hated it, but that was really fun.” She kissed my cheek. “Can I have tomorrow’s?”
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the day after that. It’s all yours, sweetness.”
“It says they get harder. Wonderful!”
“Yeah, wonderful.”

Elapsed time it took me to gut through it and not even half solve it: Fifteen minutes.
Elapsed time it took her to solve it: Eight and a half minutes.

I don’t know whether to be jealous or grateful or admiring or *what*, y‘all!