Same job, different uniform.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

I Don't Play Tennis.

When I say this, I mean that I don't play well enough to call the game tennis. I don't know the rules. I'm not quick on my feet. I can't hit the ball.

This is pretty straightforward.

It wanders aimlessly in translation, though, when I say it to a man. The first response is, "That's okay. I don't play well either." Then, "You'll fit right in." Finally, "Just have a good time."

This means: I play reasonably well. I know all the rules. I've never competed at any serious level, but I have good eye-hand coordination, tolerable skill and have been playing off and on since I was a boy. I am a competitor and I enjoy playing competitors.

The results are the same. It dawns on the men that I was serious about not being able to play. I become a drain on the team. My best efforts send the ball sailing over the 20-foot fence or slamming into the net. I don't yell or swear; I become humorless, impassive.

Only the most laid back of men don't mind playing with me. The rest will think twice before suggesting a friendly game...of serious tennis.

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Blogger Julie said...

Pretend to sprain your ankle in the first two minutes of play.

Always works.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Blogger Lois E. Lane said...

Girlfriday, this is one of my all-time favorite postings of yours. Perfection! Why don't those silly men believe us the first time? It's like when you tell them they shouldn't try picking you up because you're heavier than you seem. The result is embarrassment for both parties.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Blogger girlfriday said...


Thursday, May 18, 2006

Blogger Julie said...

The lifting thing? It can also be embarrassment at parties, which is much, much worse.

Been there.

Monday, May 22, 2006


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