For some time now, one of my bosses has been threatening to teach me to play squash. For some reason, he always felt I'd be a natural. I've been putting him off for a couple of weeks, largely due to car-crash-induced whiplash, but he'd booked a court for 4.40 pm on Friday.
Unfortunately, this was straight after the lab's Christmas lunch, which was held at a local tapas restaurant. I'd promised myself I wouldn't drink, but when we got there, the table was adorned with bottles of wine and jugs of sangria; it was too much to resist.
After some shopping, I stopped at Starbucks for a sober-me-up latte, and wandered back to the lab, before heading off to the sports hall.
Things didn't start well. Rob lent me his spare racket, which may have been older than me. Hideously old-fashioned, it was wooden, and had an inordinately long neck and a tiny head. I couldn't hit the ball to save my life. In frustration, I asked if I could borrow his racket for a few minutes... that's when things took off.
It took a while to adjust to the speed of the ball, but by the end (and with me still in possession of Rob's decent racket), we actually got some decent rallies going.
This was fun that I intend to repeat. Preferably with men... they are less inclined to whine, and say things like, "did you have to hit the ball that hard?"
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8 comments:
You commented in your Foo Fighters post:
But I left feeling high, sweaty and physically drained…
Maybe that's what he meant by you being a natural.
Or maybe that wasn't the kind of natural that he felt...
*scowls*
;-)
So, was he fit?
Or rich?
We. Played. Squash.
No polite euphemisms required.
And for the record, whoever you are, he is neither!
Squash-ata, squash-ato!
Was your frustration relieved, at least?
Hitting things (people or squash balls, I'm not overly fussed) usually does the trick ;-)
Ok, running away now :)
I don't run particularly fast. As long as you stay out of striking distance, you should be just fine ;-)
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