So my parents have convinced me to join their tennis league this summer - USTA (pronounced OOsta if you are trying to be a smart ass like me). Normally I shy away from the out door sports as they involve the sun (this pasty white complexion has become an art form to maintain these days), exercise that is more than just having to get up to change the channel when I can't find the remote, and of course dorky clothing that mom has a penchant for.

My parents were delighted that i wouldn't be slacking around this summer and mom immediately went to work on producing the goofiest outfit ever for me to play tennis in. We battled about what I would wear as I own no shorts and bell bottom jeans aren't exactly the height of tennis fashion. I finally got her to agree to my mudflap girl babydoll shirt and she got to dress me in a simple white tennis skirt. Fine. I can handle this. Then she informs me that my undewear isn't going to hack it. What is she talking about? It's not like I was gonna wear a thong or leopard print plaid panties. Apparently there is some sort of regulated dress code and my underwear isn't designated as proper attire. Ummm. And what, pray tell is? Mom comes back with a huge white tent. I thought she forgot the stakes for it until i realized that I was looking at the largest granny panties ever invented with a single roll of fabric. Ick. I am not wearing those. Mom frowns, then gets that idea light popping above her head and comes back with a similar pair in blue. Fine. It seems that I will have to go out shopping before a real tennis match so no one laughs and points at me. I did run, however when she tried to make me wear a visor. I gotta draw the line somwhere.

So after I am looking like a glorified cheerleader, we are off to the tennis center. I use this term loosely as it is remniscent of an oversized outhouse with a lockerroom. Right as we pull up, I am reminded that this is just like if I were to take her to a con - except the roles are reversed. Mom knows everyone, they know her and has the weird costume that I wear at cons. I told mom this and she didn't like that comparison at all. Apparently her little yahting club wanna bes are too snooty to be considered as plebian as myself.

Mom gets us a court and we start hitting the ball back and forth. I am not that great a player and i haven't played in years. I had an Australian cutie that was a pro player and taught me - but after he started making our sessions into trying to pick me up (he had a wife and kid) - i quickly lost interest in the sport - and Australians. I was doing rather well for not picking up a racket in four years - I even had a backhand I was unaware i would remember. I guess it's like riding a bike.

I would tend to curse when I would miss a ball, fall or hit myself in the face with the racket and sometimes you just can't keep this anger to yourself. Mom would get a little pissy. I really tried to keep it inside, but it would generally sound like this:

(ball would bounce off my racket and hit me in the chest)
"DAMMIT!!!"
(evil look from mom)
"Shit!!! sorry!!"
(her mouth would then start to pinch up and you could see the disgust)
"Oh Fuck!! I didnt' mean to say that"
(At this point she is ready to kick my ass - but as that would be worse than me cursing - decides to aim the balls right at my face - and thus starting the cursing avalanche all over again)
As you can see, it wasn't going well on that front, but I did manage to not curse and instead emit loud growling sounds and sometimes go "eeeeeeeeeeee!!"

Also, I saw why we were wearing the USTA approved diapers. You have to carry the balls with you on your person and I had to put them in the underwear. That was the only use I could see for them being so huge. Unfortunately, it wasn't very lady like. I would attempt to discreetly put them in the waistband and it just looked like to the naked eye that i was redistributing a wedgie in my pants. After all that, the balls would still fall to my crotch and make an embarssing bulge in my skirt. There has got to be a better way.

All in all, mom was quite pleased with my skills and we headed in after about an hour. Since dad was to be my tennis partner, I had a practice scheduled with him the following week. I wasn't too nervous, I just didnt' want to dissappoint him as he is a pretty good player.

When we finally got around to playing, I saw what my dad had been trying to build for himself the past four years he had been playing tennis - he wanted no one to ever call him "grandpa." This was evident in the "shark attack" move he played on the net. He could see the ball coming just over the net and then slam it down a foot from our startled opponents - rendering us a point and making me wonder if we were playing volleyball.

We got spanked all over that court that day - but we put up a good fight. I like to think that I brought some good aspects to our team - like the scooby victory point dance and "Potato Me!!" moves just in case we were to actually win a set. I also didn't know that dad had no backhand and so I felt sort of superior.

I have another practice in a few days and after the "normal-er" looking clothes that people were wearing last time - I will make sure that mom isn't around when I dress myself for the match. It took me forever to find my way out of those panties.