My husband and I have always tried to find athletic activities we could both do together and actually enjoy. So far we've agreed on hiking.
So for my birthday last week, my husband gave me a tennis racket. He grew up on the courts and has longed for someone to stand on the other side of the net and hit the tennis ball back to him. I, on the other hand, haven't ever set foot on one, unless you count the time in 8th grade that my friend's dad took us to the court at his country club and proceeded to humiliate us in front of all of his friends.
So, yesterday morning my husband and I had a date to hit the tennis courts. Bright and early, with my pink tennis rack in hand, we headed over to the courts in the park across the street. My husband went over the basics (forehand, backhand, serving, the rules of the game) and we got to playing. Impatient by nature, I immediately attempted to serve, throwing caution to the wind.
My comfort with the court increased and pretty soon I was keeping extra tennis balls in the waistband of my shorts and grunting like Maria Sharapova. Tennis pros, look out, here I come.
When we got back to the apartment I was feeling pretty good about picking up the game so fast, my husband's comments only fueling the fire. The discussion then turned to the couple who was playing on the court next to ours. They were similar in age and it seemed as though the male counterpart was teaching the female how to play as well. My confidence got ahead of me.
"I don't really think she has was what it takes," I blurted out to my husband.
The look of absolute horror on his face said it all.
"I mean..." I stammered, but what was said, was said.
So those in my neighborhood beware. I'll be back on the courts tomorrow.