Wednesday 13 December 2017

Himself is putting me through my paces on the tennis court, with very little success

By Justine O'Mahony

I got a tennis racket for my birthday. And balls. Let's not forget the balls!

I had asked for a week in the sun - several times - but obviously my less-than-subtle hints fell on deaf ears. Come to think of it I've asked for a sun holiday every January for about 10 years and I've never been granted my wish. It's probably time to accept defeat.

Maybe it's just as well. The diet isn't going to plan. The diet isn't going. At all. I've decided I really don't like being hungry. It doesn't agree with me and it makes me extremely cranky, like a woman with PMT 24 hours a day, all day every day. I've been going around scrounging food off the kids' plates because obviously it doesn't count if it's not on your own plate.

So perhaps a bit of exercise mightn't be such a bad idea, I thought. Be good for me. Help me get in shape. What I wasn't reckoning on was Himself dragging me out of the bed at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning to have a 'knock up'.

Initially I thought he was referring to a bit of canoodling under the covers. At least I didn't have to get out of bed for that! But then he opened the curtains and handed me my tennis racket and I knew it wasn't hanky panky he had in mind!

You know you've done the dog on it over Christmas when your tracksuit bottoms are too tight! So tight that they require a hoody to be tied around the waist to hide the bulge. I just hoped there was nobody else stupid enough to be playing tennis at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning to witness it.

Unfortunately there were plenty of other eegits with the same idea so I was forced to don a baseball cap to remain incognito.

Himself started hitting balls at me, none of which I managed to hit back. I just stood there shrieking.

'Move! You have to move to get to the ball!' he shouted at me. 'Stop shouting at me!' I shouted back. He shouted at me again. My temper got the better of me and I ran (ok, more a little jog) and managed to not only hit the ball but get it over the net.

'There you go! See, it's not that hard once you get going. We'll be calling you Venus in no time!' he said as he whacked another ball back at me. 'The Goddess of Love? Why?' I asked, anticipating a romantic reply, for some strange reason.

'As in Williams? The famous tennis player?' My blank expression made him try again. 'Sister of Serena?' I continued to look blank.

'Ok,' he sighed. 'One day at a time.'

Sometimes it's easier to play dumb. Please God he'll give up on me within a week!

Wexford People

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