Many moons ago when I was a wet-behind-the-ears 18 year old, I met a guy. It was July 4th, and I was hanging out at “the bar” with my Dad during a visit with him in El Paso. You only had to be 18 to get into most bars in Texas at this time. You couldn’t legally drink at 18, but you could hang out with all the people who could. Yeah, interesting law. Maybe they figured this was the best way to have a designated driver on hand. Or wait, maybe that was just in my family. Anyway this guy, whose name I can’t even remember now, was older, recently divorced, and had a couple of small kids. He was a nice enough guy, but I think he thought he was going to get something from me other than some good conversation. You know, good conversation with an 18 year old. Uh-huh. Let me be clear up front, he didn’t get anything more than conversation from me. Let me repeat this. He did NOT get anything more than conversation from me. Even though he wanted more.
He and I spent some time together. We went to White Sands and hiked around on the dunes one afternoon. We had fine dining experiences at the local Denny’s. And then one fateful day, we played racquetball. I had never played before but figured, hey, this guy’s old, how hard could it be to beat him? And it wasn’t. We played some intense games of racquetball, and I kicked his ass. Sure, I can hear the questions now. Did he LET you win? Was he trying to make me feel euphoric from the slaughter, so much so that he could take me back to his place for a roll in the hay? Um, NO. No, no, no. It was a heart-thumping, intense game. And did I mention I never played before and still kicked ass? Oh, and this was the last time I saw this guy. So, if that was intention, it totally backfired. As you can see, this slaughter made me smug about what I thought were natural racquetball abilities. At least I can admit it.
Fast forward to the present. Almost two decades later. *Shudder.* Last week I joined a gym. This gym even has a place I can take the kids while I work out, so I have no excuse not to go. I even convinced Greg to sign up. Here’s why I thought this was a good idea. We don’t have date night. We rarely get to go out by ourselves. Here’s an opportunity to get as many dates in a month that we want, all for only an additional $25 a month. Granted, these dates will not consist of candlelight and fine wine (or box wine, for that matter). There will be no long and loving gazes as we walk down a moonlit path. No, these will not be traditional dates. The upside? Two incredible things. One, we don’t have to worry about getting a babysitter to get some alone time. Two, there will be some ass-kicking on the racquetball court. Me doing all the ass-kicking of course. I mean, Greg is older and has two small kids and one big kid. He fits the perfect mold for one of my court dominations.
Yeah, smug. Right? Well, I learned my lesson yesterday. Never estimate an old dog. (Sorry, Greg. You ARE older.) Greg kicked my ass in the racquetball court yesterday. He even stung my ass once with the ball when I didn’t move fast enough. I held my own, for sure. I hadn’t stepped foot in a racquetball court for 18 years, and I think I did an ok job. But Greg, well, he did better.
About 40 minutes into our first “date” on the court, I felt a snap. A foreboding and painful snap. So, now I am nursing an injured wrist. Boo hoo. Sniff. Sniff. That’s ok. This will give Greg some time to get really smug about his victory. That’s my game plan. Let him *think* he’s all that and a bag of chips. I just needed a warm up, a refresher course. And now I just need a little time to heal. He better watch out because our next date is sure to be a knock-out! Get your protective gear ready, Greg!