When temperatures are hitting the three digit mark and the only wet spot in my yard is from a faucet dip, I don’t take kindly to my neighbors splashing around in their WET swimming pool.
Strange how a little body of water can liven things up. These people are one big whoopee group all summer long, 24 hours a day. Jumping in and out the pool and on weekends and holidays, off a make- shift diving board.
Once in a while I’m invited over for a swim. I have a two- piece skirted swimsuit (that’s the envy of everyone on the street,) which doesn’t fit in with the dime-size bikinis perched on the side of the pool.
These water nymphs had to come in a package deal with the pool or either they were listed on Craig’s List. I have no idea where the guys in the Speedos came from.
I know for a fact these neighbors don’t know anyone that could fit into a pint size bikini -much less have one for a friend. Most of their swimming pals have varicose veins, gut overhang and waddle arms, and only expose the tops of their feet to the sun if it’s a cloudy day.
Back to those guys in Speedos, wonder if any of them come with a blow-up pool?
I need to start off by saying I don’t own an iPhone. It’s not that I’m cheap, it’s just that I can’t be sure I can assemble all that information. For one thing I don’t need a little screen to show me exactly where I am or where I’m going. I usually have a pretty good idea. If not, I stop and ask.
Recently I read that the new Apple iPhone is less that perfect. Hello. Somebody forgot to mention that to all those people who have been camped out in line for two days to pick up their new ones. Or, maybe they know and don’t care. They’re happy to walk around with one in their hand and occasionally send an e-mail with an address from their iPhone.
The distributors are working on their manufacturing mistake. (everybody makes one occasionally) and is handing out free protective cases for the phones to alleviate the “death grip” problem which involves muffling the sound when you hold the phone with a bare hand. Some uncouth technician mentioned duck tape as a solution. Pleeze.. Like a techy nerd is going to let anyone (i.e. another techy nerd) see him holding an iPhone WRAPPED IN DUCT TAPE. I understand Mattel is coming out with a high tech outfit with lots of bling to fit over the case. There’s a rakish little cap on the market too but the company is already backed up with orders.
The phones are definitely a status symbol. No one wants to be seen without one. Which could prove to be a problem in air travel. Even as we speak airlines are working on a proposal to charge $25 for every one brought on board and an extra $10 for the simple black case.
On the subject of tennis. I have nothing against golf , but I had to give it up after one of my shoulder pads slid down my arm and flew across the green when I was lined up with a group of men practicing my swing. Needless to say no one wanted to pick it up and it was pretty tough to ignore. You just don’t recover from that kind of trauma.
Years ago when I took tennis lessons it didn’t take me long to catch on to some of the basics. Like when I moved up to the Real Players after playing with the fun group a couple of years. These players really concentrate on their game, especially while playing.
Tennis is not for wimps, it’s tough. Trying to develop a backhand is a shattering experience. It can cause anxiety, depression, paranoia and during actual play, extreme fright. Two days in a row was the most I could count on mine showing up. Running around your backhand is good exercise and you best bet for hitting the ball. This necessitates running over to your partner’s side of the court from time to me and occasionally knocking her down when you’re receiving serve. ‘Course, my game was never perfect.
Stamina and coordination are also important and relatively simple to achieve. You only need stamina to yell in a loud positive voice to your partner, “yours.” As for coordination, simply wear a tennis dress with matching panties and you are – coordinated that is.
Intimidation is also part of the game. Tennis is all in the mind and if you psych your opponents out by intimidating them, you can control the game. But the time I had all this figured out, I had become the intimidatee instead of the intimidator. I kept running to the net looking fierce and my opponents kept lobbing the balls over my head to win the point. After a game or two of this, I moved back to my comfort zone – the baseline.
Keeping score was a problem too. If I returned the ball more than twice in a game while I was serving, I forgot the score. Sometimes opponents have this problem too which meant I was constantly going back to duece. When this happened, my partner and I would call the liners out the rest of the set. This balanced things out - well, sort of.
Every tennis player is a good sport and plays the game just for the fun of beating you. The pathetic players are the losers who keep insisting “tennis only a game.”’
Tatum Caporal and and Carrie Caporal, holding my dog Meg, at the Quail Creek Fourth of July parade. Check out Tatum’s T-shirt, it read “Yankee Doodle Dandy Tatum.”
When did driving a car and reaching the destination you were heading for, get to be such a challenge?
Recently I read a news story about a woman who got lost on an interstate highway and drove for two days before she found the right exit. And then there’s the woman in Paris who made the news when she kept driving around in a circle for 12 hours trying to find a way to get off to view the Eiffel Tower.(someone finally got behind her car and knocked it off)
I identify with these woman. Interstate travel can be a challenge for those of us who are easily distracted and inevitably travel with a cell phone that needs charging.
Just last week I was on an expressway, moving with the flow, heading across town. I glanced down to change radio stations and when I looked up, I was caught up in the southbound truck route bound for Fort Smith at 75 mph.
Frantic, I signaled with my blinkers for the outside lane so I could exit, turn around and make another running start
Traffic closed ranks and no one would even look in my direction. I tried blinking my lights, sounding my horn, hanging a white scarf out the window and running my antenna up and down.
Finally I spotted the magic “exit” word again and after signaling for another five miles, I gunned it across two lanes and left the highway without a clue where I was going.
I found a service station and went in and asked for directions. Before I got back in the car I bent over to check out my back tire. Suddenly a truck whizzed by and sucked my skirt and left shoe up under its axle.
Thanks goodness for the road map I found stashed in the pocket of my car. I had to drive home wearing it.