The Sting
Posted on April 3, 2008
Filed Under bitching and moaning, challenges, snark, suburban joys | 13 Comments
Okay, so yesterday was Wednesday and you know that’s my tennis day, so I’ll give you the full disclosure. But I’ll make it brief because I hate to talk about losing. Especially the kind of losing that, if I hadn’t made such a mince out of my last service game, would have actually been a win. And then of course there’s my explosive temper that I’ll only hint at. Suffice it to say that I am experiencing a certain shame and remorse that I misbehaved just wee bit after the match. I probably shouldn’t have slammed my racket into the net and screamed God Damn It loud enough to disrupt play on the next court and the court next to that one, all the way down the line. So much for that good sportsmanship I’ve been talking to O about with earnest tones of wisdom. Sometimes it’s too damn hard to model the behavior we’d like our very own children to exhibit.
Luckily we were playing a team comprised of two decent and understanding women who were already fully aware of my venomous and petulant tendencies (we all played for the same team last year). They just smiled and said, Such good tennis. So much fun. To which I responded Please excuse me while I swallow my own vomit. Oh and pretty please, for a just moment, try to imagine that you just lost an important match by one game, two points in an abbreviated third set that, by North Shore Women’s League rules, cannot be played in its entirety due to time constraints and come back and tell me how much fun it was again. Really, tell me again, because I need one more excuse to slam this ball at you from the service line after play has stopped and you approach to shake my hand.
Needless to say I’ve been licking the wound, suffering the sting of injured pride and damaged self esteem, all afternoon and only after a liberal dose of Clonazepam and a towering bowl of ice cream can I even write about the defeat.
Tomorrow is another day, a practice day, in which I should force myself to do wind sprints and full half hour of back hand volleys. Instead I may read a book and begin drinking before noon and stay in my pajamas until I need to take O to the dentist. Again, which, as you all know, always always puts me in such a foul mood that I will probably be freebasing Clonazepam and eating from the ice cream carton with my fingers by tomorrow evening. Oh, and yet another winter storm is rolling in which is just a cruel joke, a lesson in enduring patience.
Good things come to those who wait. Things like tulips and sunshine and tank top weather. It’s a shame that Mother Nature is just sort of an amorphous spiritual type idea because, if she were a little more real and had a tendency to wear tennis skirts, I’d be kicking her ass right now.
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