Show me your Wordle score, and I'll show you who you are

I'm in multiple Wordle text groups, so you might say I am an expert on the diversity of human behavior. My Wordle friends include a pharmacist, a 76-year-old grandma, an engineering professor, a stay-at-home mom, and a creative director in the fashion industry.

But their occupation, age, education or gender can't explain what makes them tick as well as their Wordle strategies.

To the uninitiated: Wordle is an addictive word puzzle that gives players six tries to guess a five-letter word. On any given day, everyone gets the same word. You can share your results to boast of your wins, which is why you've been seeing a bit of nerd swagger on social media as folks post grids of green, black and yellow squares.

I was shocked to learn that the creator of Wordle intended his game to be a momentary diversion, not an obsession tied to one's self-worth. He told the New York Times, which recently bought the game, that people should not spend more than three minutes a day on the game.

Three minutes? I prefer to rack my brain over two cups of coffee, methodically plotting my next move like a military general. By my third try, I am tormented by the peculiarities of the English language. Do I even know English?

Last week, stumped after the third guess, I took a break. A flash of enlightenment came to me in the shower. "Onion!" I shouted with a giant, knowing grin on my face. I leaped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and, still smiling, typed in my guess.

It wasn't "onion."

All this is to say, people are different. So I'm doing free horoscope readings this week. Show me how you play Wordle, and I'll show you who you are.

Your go-to drink is White Claw. The Lumineers' "Ho Hey" is your jam when you need a little oomph to light a fire under you in the morning. You have saved a gif in your phone that says, "Teamwork makes the dream work." In the early 2000s you joined a kickball league.

News isn't worth sharing unless it's newsworthy. You have four separate Wordle group texts, and you wake them up at 6:30 a.m. to post your stellar scores. Sometimes you accompany your results with the shrug emoji, as if to say, "What luck! I don't know how I did this!" But don't be fooled: This is a clear message to announce your dominance to those who've underestimated you. You seem nice, but you will kick your enemies to the ground when they aren't looking.

You dive head first into high-risk situations such as gambling and excessive shopping. Winning big motivates you — and clouds your ability to reason. When you were a child, your therapist reminded you to "see the stop sign" and "put on the brakes." But you know life rewards those who have the audacity to go all in.

Logic and pragmatism make your Wordle go 'round. "I found the damn vowels" will be inscribed on your tombstone. Even though you are not a nurse or teacher, you gravitate toward Clarks comfort shoes. You unwittingly bought the same pair — the black leather Mary Janes with the rounded toe, low heel and to-die-for arch support — five years apart. In junior high you annoyed your friends who spent their allowance on Baskin-Robbins while you waited until you got home to make your own milkshake.

Your last momergency was after your 9-year-old barged into the bedroom while you were having "relations" with your husband. You dreamed last night of Jimmy Garoppolo. It ended with you mewing, "Here, Jimmy, Jimmy." You don't know why people are shocked you would guess "labia." It has a very tricky construction, and you know the Wordle creator rewards this sort of outside-the-box thinking. During the omicron wave, you are planning a girls' trip to Palm Springs and are researching the best tiki bars.

You have been criticized for living in the past, but you know that life is a teacher. You can rattle off your Top 5 lists of favorite John Hughes movies and best transition songs for mix tapes. You learn from your wins — and from your heartbreaks.

An ability to visualize your success has propelled you to the top of the medal stand. Back in 2006, you listened to Oprah and bought several copies of "The Secret" for your closest friends. People know you to be thoughtful — you've labeled your cookbooks with notes about the last time you made the dish and who liked it. You have also converted your basement into a torture chamber.

The source code contains all of the words used in Wordle. Your buddy created and shared with you a spreadsheet that lists not just those words, but the most frequently used letter in each position of the word. In high school you created the Dungeons & Dragons affinity club, but you've since graduated to games like Twilight Struggle and War of the Ring. Your phone's ringtone is the theme song to "Morning Edition." In your free time you compete in folding bike races. Your contributions to small talk begin with the phrase, "Well, actually ... "

Yesterday you picked up your phone and found 112 texts waiting for you on a group thread taken over by tiny colorful boxes, along with inside jokes that mean nothing to you. You wanted to get in on the action, but you can't find the right website. You're playing something called Wordle, which you installed from the App Store, but it doesn't seem to jibe with the conversations people are having. You wonder if this is the Burlington Coat Factory version of Wordle. You hope to ask for clarification on Facebook using the "What's on Your Mind?" feature that depicts a cartoon drawing of you shouting into a megaphone.

You are a sociopath.