Member of High Society

5 Sep

John and I signed up for a tennis club membership at the beginning of the summer. That’s right, I’m a tennis club member (said in the poshiest accent ever) with an actual clubhouse that’s always locked up because an executive has to present while it’s open. That’s okay though, because it was super cheap, and I get to tout that I’m an actual member of a club.

I took this turn in my life very seriously. I went out and bought a complete tennis outfit, bright pink, a fancy tennis racquet, and tennis shoes. I even have one of those wrist-band sweat absorbers – no sweat beads on this girl’s forehead! I really wanted a towel-material headband, but John put his foot down and said I would look ridiculous. Pshh…little does he know, it’s what all the cool girls wear. Or they will, after I single-handedly bring them back into style. But, really, it was all worth it, because we’ve actually been playing. We average around 3 plays a week, and we look forward to it.

The only problem is, for the first 15 minutes of play, it’s as though I have never played a single hand of tennis in my entire life. What? A small, yellow ball coming my way? Why, let me move aside and let it completely bypass me. Or, despite the ball being four feet away from me, let me swing my racquet vehemently into thin air – sounds like a stellar plan! After my horrible start of a warm-up, I get pretty good. I’ve surprised myself, I have a great backhand and can hit some decent balls. I’ve come to truly believe, had I played since I was young, and taken lessons, I would be a champion female tennis player for Canada. In another dimension, my Olympic gold medal is hanging on my wall at this very moment in time.


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