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“Marriage is hot,” I tell my husband. “Sex is super hot.”
“How about balls?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Balls are frigid.”
I’m addicted to Pimantle (and Wordle, Quordle, Octordle, Semantle, and Scrabble). It’s like playing Marco Polo, only with words (like “ghost” or “furniture”). The warmer you get, the closer you are to guessing. I dismissed the Reddit reviewer’s warning: “Hate this game. Pretty sure I’ll play it every day.” Now I’m hooked, too.
Is it “queer”? Three flames means I’m 8 words away! How about “gay”?
The app rejoices: “You did it! Flameo, Hotman!”
Dopamine! So sweet. Until it’s gone.
