My husband (Sporto) and I had our first tennis lessons today. I didn’t think there was anything I would like less than jogging, but here it is. Tennis is the devil’s sport, and our instructor, Chip (something like that), is the devil’s aryan little minion.
I have been serving the ball wrong for my entire life, at least the entire 5 times I’ve ever played tennis. As a result, I was whiffing the ball all over the place, with Sporto showing me up the entire time. At some point, I believe Chip got tired of telling me to pronate my wrist and just started ignoring me in favor of my Sport-happy husband, who by the way looked like he was all whacked out on PCP because his eyes were so bloodshot. I mean, when I pronate my foot, I get bursitis in my ankle, so why do I want to do that with my wrist?
The worst part is that my remote control clicking muscle is sore now. Oh the humanity!
