Falkoff and I got up at the crack of dawn yesterday to play tennis at the cove. Actually it was only about seven o’clock in the morning but it felt very early after Sarah got home at midnight. Her baby sitting had gone late while the people she was babysitting for were held-up at the restaurant because the parents were friends with some Fox executive who knew the chef so the chef wanted them to stay longer. By the time Sarah got home she was fuming.

So the tennis game was a shambles for me. After playing squash off and on for the winter I couldn’t remember how to play tennis at all. I managed to get some skills back but I was ready to play a very small child in order to get my confidence back. Among the things that I was suffering from was a total failure of any backhand shots. If the ball was to the right of me I was better off calling it quits than swinging at it and then having to fetch it from whatever obtuse angle it flew off the racket. The only saving grace to the bad backhand which I doubt I will ever fix was that I was thinking about my future child and how the one gift I intend to give them is the knowledge that you should learn to hit a backhand early in your life. It is quite a relief to not have to worry as much about my faults. Instead I can just project them onto my future children as something to fix in the next generation. For now it works well since I don’t actually have any sentient children and I can think of them more like version 2.0 for me but at some point that will likely fail.

As the morning warmed-up a pair of tennis fanatics who awoke even later than we did set-up in the court next to us. They were much better and made me feel worse about how bad I was playing and my squandered dreams of winning at Wimbledon. One of the two was quite funny because he had a habit of chastising himself in full coach yelling while he played. So he would tell himself things in a sarcastic voice like “Nice Lexi – you worked hard for that last point and look what you did on that one”, “You have to move Lexi and run after the ball if you want to get those points”. He went on and on and I was amazed at how little his opponent paid to this bizarre self-coaching behavior.

After a set and ten games of losing to Falkoff I conveniently sprained my hamstring and felt enough pain to call it a day. This afternoon I leave for Montreal for the bachelor party ritual. In preparation I have been trying to learn Flash.

Worlds Worst Flash Animation: