Where is your vibrator? And other tales from tennis

Julie and I had been emailing because it looked like rain. I said, sadly, it’s sunny here. I knew I should be more excited to go to our tennis class because I love to play, but I said today I really can’t take any more direction....more playing, less instruction. Sometimes I just can’t think any more at the end of the day!

Ironically, I ended up arriving at tennis early, which never happens, so Manuel, one of our instructors said he would give me a private lesson until everyone arrived and warmed up. He asked what part of my game I wanted to work on in particular. I said, well the whole thing in general, but I would like to have a more powerful serve in particular.

He’s showing me how to stand. Who told you to stand with your foot like that? I don’t know, just always have done it. Well, stand with them apart, but in line, let your body go forward with the power of the serve. Ok. Hold the racket relaxed, loose, basically with 3 fingers so you can snap it up to hit the ball just a little bit in front of you using the power of your whole body. Ok. Don’t let any of the racket stick out past the bottom of your hand – keep it flush so that you can use your whole arm. Ok. All seems to work when you have someone telling you what to do. Like with anything, you know when it feels right, but you’re not exactly sure how to replicate it.

He says. Where’s this? And he points to this little piece of plastic on the racket strings. I didn’t have one on my racket. I matter of factly say – oh – that – it’s in my racket bag. He looks perplexed. Been there since I bought my racket when I started playing, what was that like 4 summers ago? He stopped what he was doing, looks at me and says “I could write a book of all the things I hear you people say.” And just shakes his head and laughs.

What I didn’t tell him, which should go in his book, was a few summers ago there was this hotty instructor that was a student at SLU at the time – beyond being easy on the eyes, he was a smarty – studying finance and Russian/international studies. Hmmmm. However, the student at SLU part made him more of a conversation piece and target for the older married women in the class. One class he was going on and on about...Don’t you have a vibrator? Where’s your vibrator? I can help you with your vibrator. This poor kid really was just telling this lady to let him add this little piece of plastic to her racket because it absorbs the vibration so it doesn’t transfer into your arm so your arm doesn’t get sore. He was just teaching what he knew – he had no idea what he was saying or how everyone was taking it. After that I never really wanted to ask anyone about that little piece of plastic.

Tennis is filled with tons of 6th grade humor. Normally I am not a fan, but come on – where’s your vibrator? And how many times do we talk about balls? You know some kid just starting out in his lessons is in tears laughing every time some girl in his class pulls a ball out of her skirt or makes some comment about needing more balls. We’re always yelling – I have one! It’s amazing how many balls fit up there. Those little skirts are like magic. The worst is when the balls go in the corner of the court and end up with little ants on them and you forget to check and all the sudden you’re like OUCH! It bit me! Dancing around, balls falling out of your skirt. Oh to be a 6th grade boy.

And in tennis we get to say fun things like – I made myself a midget! Which I yelled after ducking down and letting the ball whiz over my head so my partner could get it. I think the actual direction was something like, make yourself small, which meant bend your legs to get down to the ball if you need to – gives you more flexibility and easier to adjust for the height of shot. I prefer my version.

After class I went to the grocery store. I was walking up the aisle in my little tennis get up, all sweaty and gross. I hear this little voice and it sounds like he’s saying Staci, Staci....so as I get closer I see it’s this little boy in a shopping cart and he’s looking right at me, repeating the same word. As I pass by his parents say to me – oh he’s just learning how to say Lady. He’s been eyeing you come up the aisle. They sounded so proud, he just kept saying it over and over. I said, well my name is Staci, which it sounds like too - I thought maybe he was psychic. He did have a weird look in his eye – very intense. They looked at me funny (in hindsight it may be kind of creepy to hear a woman call your kid psychic in the grocery store...who knew?) and then they made some comment about how young he was to be flirting with the girls...so cute. Ah yes.

I continued shopping as to not be around when psychic boy started speaking in tongues or shouting proverbs to passerbyers. I was on a mission to get oatmeal. I have it for breakfast every morning and the grocery store is the only place I can find regular oatmeal. If you go to Target or Walgreens they only carry the 1-minute quick oats. One minute? For real? It only takes 5 minutes to make it on the stove...or 2 minutes in the microwave. Did we really need to use our resources inventing the 1 minute version? How busy are we? If you don’t have 4 extra minutes in your day you need to slow down because your head’s about to explode. On the other hand I bought steel cut oats at Trader Joes, which says you cannot make them in the microwave and it literally takes at least a half an hour to make on the stove...seriously? Those people need to be introduced to that Quaker Oat guy – apparently he knows all the secrets.