Coach P. and I and our spouses went out with some new friends last night, the parents of one of the kids on our team, with my oldest agreeing (for money) to watch the younger kids. Our new friends have never entrusted their boys to a babysitter before and were a little nervous. Coach P. told them that he'd put away most of his guns for the evening. That didn't seem to comfort them.
It's hard to know what the team parents think of us. During the bottom of the last inning a few games ago, Coach P. was leaning against the dugout with his eyes closed while I paced outside the backstop. One of the moms asked me if I was feeling alright.
"Not really," I said. "I think I'm having a heart attack. It'll be fine if we strike this next kid out. Otherwise I'll probably die. I hope I die either way. I have a lot of insurance and it would be best for my family." She giggled, more of a nervous tic really, and moved away.
These new friends seemed willing to tolerate us. Or, as therapists by training, it could be they saw the invitation to join us last night as a cry for help. The meal was fine, but I'm not sure that my suggestion of "Knocked Up" as an after dinner activity was a good idea. If I had any social awareness I'd question the advisability of sitting next to the parent of a child entrusted to my care and snickering at juvenile condom jokes. I don't, so I just snorted and ate my way through the movie.
We got through the evening, though, and went back to Coach P.'s to retrieve the kids. They were wired on sugar and having a fine old time laughing and chasing the dog around the house. When our new friends told their kids they had to leave they howled their protest until the husband relented and had a beer. Coach P. and I took him upstairs to admire the new 50-inch TV and he made properly impressed noises, although he seemed to find it odd when I said that if it had one more input jack Coach P. could leave his wife and move in with it. After a bit they paid my oldest for his time, grabbed their kids, and left, quickly.
The next game is on Tuesday. I think I'll drive by Monday to see whether our new friends have put their house on the market by then.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
How Do You Spell TRO?
Posted by Snag at 10:36 PM
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6 comments:
Therapists usually need therapy after a while. Or beer. Lots and lots of beer.
It would have been more interesting if you had dinner with the therapists and the parents of the kid you gave a black eye. Then suggested to see a Ninja movie afterwards.
UC and I saw K-U over the weekend. AG was not amused overall. And I know what you mean -- the few guffaws AG had, she wasn't comfortable laughing in front of UC. UC!
It was too much like the time I watched Cheech and Chong with my parents and wanted to laugh, but worried they would know that I understood the joke!
AG, I'm surprised you went to see KU at all.
It looks like it's heaped with patriarchal blather and "women are supposed to be Mommies" sexist hooey.
I'd figure it would put you into a serious Yarbleizing mood.
Beer is kind of an all purpose solution in my book.
K-U wasn't as sexist as one would think. God knows I'd never watch it with my parents though. Better a Cheech and Chong movie.
BP, after reading the director's comments about the movie, I flat out refused.
However, UC was all crying and since his BFF "Asian Symbol" wasn't up for seeing other people get pregnant, UC went to Ocean's 13 with him. AG being AG said she'd go with UC because he was a good sport on Saturday afternoon.
You will note here that AG refused to pay for the movie on Sunday. AG would go with UC, but would not give any money to such offensive vagina jokes and misogyny.
It doesn't matter if you paid, you watched it. I think you loved it.
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