I don’t compete. Not really anyway. I mean…If I’m playing Catch Phrase or Heads Up, ( or maybe basketball with a five year old ), I will totally get into the game. I can yell and scream and cheer with the best of them. But I don’t really care if I lose. Maybe that is more what I mean. “I’m not competitive” = “I don’t care if I lose.” Don’t get me wrong, during the game, I want to win. I think everyone does. But if I don’t win, I don’t lose any sleep. Now I’m married to a man who has an ex-wife. At first glance, I would tell you that I feel no need to compete with her. I have never needed to feel “prettier” than her. She has seen me in comfy pants, hair up, and no make up. She’s seen me in torn workout clothes and I don’t wear Lulu Lemon. One time I opened the front door panting and she could see lines of sweat dribbling down my forehead. I never gave it a second thought. I’ve never felt the twinge of financial jealousy. She works ve