Luck be a Lady

Bonk Bonk

Squeak Squeak

Bonk

Squeak

Bonk

Squeak Squeak Squeak

Bonk

OUT!

I love the sound of tennis.

I love the fuzzy yellow balls.

I love reaching for the sky when I serve and whizzing my racquet through the air. Whoosh.

When my husband and I moved to our new town, I wanted to find a few women to play tennis with, so I typed some magic words into Google and Bada-Bing, Bada-Boom, a Ladies Tennis Group popped up.

“Perfect!” I cried. “I’m a lady!”

Then I thought:

Wait.
Am I?
What is a lady?

When I think of a LADY, I think: Condoleezza Rice. Barbara Walters. Laura Bush.

I think: Mistress. Mother. Ms. Manners.

LADY conjures images of women who own their own homes, who excuse themselves to powder their nose, and who schedule things like mammograms.

LADY means mature (pronounced muh-tyoor).

I’m none of these things.

I’m 33, still renting an apartment, and most days I feel like a kid.

I don’t have children of my own (yet), and until I push a baby through my loins I don’t think I’ll ever feel muh-tyoor. Instead of marching up the steady steps of Corporate America, I’m living the eccentric and somewhat aloof life of a writer. I don’t wear make-up. I’m years away from subjecting my small boobs to a mammogram.

Also my manners stink.
I chew gum.
I prop my elbows on the dinner table.
I wear flip flops to church.

As I thought more about the ladies tennis group, I wondered if the word “lady” meant grandma-like lady.

I signed up for a round robin anyway.

When I arrived at the court, I was, indeed, paired up with a grandma for a game of doubles.

Whoosh

The serve flew over the net towards me.

Squeak, Squeak

Bonk

I hit a forehand and the rally began. As the ball returned to our court – whizzing straight at Grandma’s face – Grandma moved into position.

Squeak

Whiff

Plunk

Grandma wiped out. I rushed to her side and debated what to say:

Are you okay?
Do you need help?
Are you hurt?

(That’s what all the other ladies said when they arrived.)

I settled for, “Hey, nice dive.”

Grandma laughed and dusted herself off. After a water break, she returned to the court and ended up playing a fantastic game. Her shots were smooth and strategic. She was funny and energetic and kind. We lost, but in the end, Grandma won my admiration.

Later, I saw her driving away through the parking lot, her small frame and gray hair poking out of her black BMW convertible. She waved at me and I waved back. I hope if I’m ever lucky enough to be a lady, I’m lucky enough to be like her.