Tennis, Anyone?

I was looking through Nigel's files (yes, I'm snoopy) and I came across this image. Why does he have a picture of a four-legged woman playing tennis? I have no idea. It does remind me of a story, though.

When I was in high school, my friends loved to play tennis. I hate tennis. I hate everything about tennis. The stupid white outfits, the low net (though high enough to trip over whenever you try to jump over it), the furry yellow balls that come in wannabe Pringles cans, everything. The only team sport I played was volleyball (and I even hated that -- I was only on the team because I hated regular P.E. classes even more).

Since I was only trained in volleyball, every time I play tennis I try to get "in front of the ball" instead of to the side of the ball. Hence, every time I play tennis I get hit in the chest with the ball. Let the hilarity ensue!

So I'm playing tennis one day with my friend T.N. and she's just smacking ball after ball at me. I'm retrieving the balls (after they bounce off my chest) and trying to serve them back; but of course, I'm so spastic that nothing is getting over the net.

After a while, T.N. ran out of balls to swing at me and I had only one ball left. One last chance to really smack T.N. in the face and get revenge. My anger coursed through my body as I threw the ball up in the air. I swung the racket as hard as I could, put all my strength into it.

Too bad my form wasn't better because I didn't straighten my arm out all the way. Instead of swinging the racket with all my force into the ball and finally giving T.N. her much deserved bloody nose, I swung the racket with all of my force right into the back of my head.

When I finally regained consciousness, T.N. was leaning over me laughing so hard I thought she was going to bust a gut.

I never played tennis again.