I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow. Tonight, My Guy and I walked to a park and shot hoops.
I don’t know about you, but I am 100% certain that the free-throw line has been moved farther away from the hoop than when I was a young whippersnapper, hatin’ my way through all things phys ed.
Seriously. The hoop was so. Far. Away.
But, much like the time My Guy held a little impromptu clinic and taught my entire family how to successfully catch a football, I learned some stuff tonight. He gave me some pointers on pushing off with my right hand, and just using my left hand to balance the ball, blah blah blah. Basic jock stuff.
We ran around. I looked like an idiot. It was fun. I felt mildly athletic-like.
In the middle of playing, I mentioned that my brother and Mrs. Poochie drove to northern Minnesota, ran a half marathon, and car camped this weekend. The catch was that they forgot mosquito repellent.
Have you ever been to Duluth? It is lovely. But the mosquitoes are unionized, and are all the size of trash trucks.
My Guy laughed. And then he really, really laughed.
“Ohmigod,” he said. “What if I told you that we were going to drive many, many hours? Then stay at a Travelodge? Then run many, many miles? And then camp? With no mosquito spray?”
He doubled over laughing.
“What,” I said / asked, attempting a meager swagger.
“That is hilarious! It’s the ultimate never-gonna-happen vacation for you, my pretty princess,” he said, choking a bit on his own hilarity.
I was dribbling a little better than a 10-year-old. I was sweaty, and pretending like I shoot hoops all the time, and that running and being all athletic was just, you know, how I roll.
I thought about it. I wanted to give My Guy a hard time, but I couldn’t even pretend.
“Well, first of all,” I said, “I don’t stay in no Travelodge.”
And then he collapsed laughing, and I had to carry him home. Or, actually, I should have carried him home, but I could have broken a nail. And it was hot. And I needed time to apply a clarifying mask to my delicate, never-going-camping face.
*I have stayed in Travelodges – I don’t mean to hate. But keep in mind that I was raised by a woman who considers staying at a Holiday Inn “roughing it.”