I have another tennis tale that starts out with blog envy. My friend David will often send me emails about what he would write about that day if he had a blog. (He’s a good writer and he’s perpetually peeved – two traits that make for good blogging – but for some reason he’s satisfied with simply sending his rants directly to me.)
He wrote to me the other day about how he screwed up his shoelaces because when he pulled the dark load out of the washer and transferred it to the dryer, only one shoelace made the transition. The other remained in the washer and was re-washed with the whites (in bleach) and is now all blotchy and ruined.
There are so very many questions this story begs, but I got stuck on the obvious one: Who washes shoelaces? Ok, maybe some do, but who washes black shoelaces?
David explained to me that it wasn’t so much that the shoelaces were dirty, as they required freshening.
This statement alone could confound me into the next decade if not for the fact that I’ve played tennis this year with some of the tidiest women I’ve ever met. On Fridays, there is a near mutiny over who gets the hoppers*. And then I feel as though I’m surrounded by a group of horses at the starting gate, all waiting for permission to run and pick up the courtsworth of tennis balls we’ve just bashed around.
As for me, I am able to watch a dishtowel drop from my counter and then step over the crunckled heap of it littering my kitchen floor indefinitely. I don’t feel compelled in the least to pick it up. I’d like to think it’s because I’m a feminist, but I’m afraid it’s just because I’m a slob.
My best tennis performance ever was the day that I mistakenly understood Laura the Tennis Pro to proclaim that the winners of the next game would not have to pick up balls at the end of the clinic. I played my ass off. Then I discovered she’d said something else entirely and she was genuinely confused about why I was jumping up and down about winning a tennis drill. More confused still about why I was lollygagging around while my clinic-mates were busy collecting up our mess.
My mom used to call me Messy Jessie. Well, maybe she didn’t, but she should have. I have no business playing tennis with the neatniks on Tidy Friday. And I should probably eschew shoelaces altogether.
*a hopper is the basket that you use to collect the tennis balls.
Your friend David sounds like a whacko! But, to be fair, there's a big difference between picking up loose tennis balls and laundering shoelaces. You could trip on a wayward ball and sprain your butt, for one. A ball lying on the ground isn't messy, it's dangerous. The same could be said for untied shoelaces, but not for shoelaces that are simply dingy.
ReplyDeleteOh, Lord. Who ever heard of someone spraining their butt on a wayward tennis ball?
ReplyDeleteLaundering shoelaces?? Reminds me of the time my friends mom asked us to give her a hand and lift her mattress for her while she proceeded to vacuum inbetween the boxspring and mattress. Of course I couldn't resist being the perpetual wiseguy I have always been and proceeded to quiz Mrs. G on the amount of dust that gets between these two objects. According to my friend she never vacuumed between the mattress and boxspring after that day.
ReplyDeleteHi Jessica,
ReplyDeleteCongrats on the blog! I must catch up.
Member me from the old Fred/Alan/Nickelodeon days? I'm also one of Dave's friends who gets the occasional e-rant (and phone-rant, which I LOVE even more) and he spoke of his shoelace troubles to me as well. He also spoke of the response this elicited from you and basically asked me, "Am I crazy or is Jessica right?"
I could only answer him by admitting that when I had my own laundering facilities, I, too, have washed my shoelaces. Often. As a matter of fact, I found that safety-pinning them together would eliminate any separation anxiety the owner of said shoelaces may be harboring.
It also kept them from winding their way around my pantyhose.
OH NO. Am I the only one who launders pantyhose?
Fran
PS. I have not only been imploring Dave to launch a blog, but I would love to have a podcast show with him ... The Fran and Dave Show. Or The Dave and Fran Show, as he might prefer. He is my most favorite form of entertainment.
Finally an explanation of those dishtowels on the kitchen floor!
ReplyDeletemy mom launders pantyhose. my husband is oblivious to all the used paper towel wads he leaves around.
ReplyDelete