Friday, 2 July 2010

Why can I never think of an excuse quickly enough?!

rounder |ˈroundər|noun1 a person who frequents bars and is often drunk. (This definition is more like me!!!!!)2 Brit. (in rounders) a complete run of a player through all the bases as a unit of scoring. (I am not likely to do this!!!!)rounders |ˈroundərz| |ˈraʊndərz|plural noun [treated as sing. ]a ball game similar to baseball, played chiefly in British schools. (For 'ball game' read TORTURE!!!!)

Why have I let myself in for this torture?! Why am I such a slow-brained idiot that I could not think of a simple excuse when asked to play?! I knew immediately that I did not want to play rounders. I knew immediately that the morning before the game I would be filled with absolute dread that would make me sweat and have palpitations and feel nausea to a most alarming degree. Idiot! I even had a get-out, presented to me on a silver platter. The lady who asked me to play began with these words: 'do you have your little ones with you all the time? Would it be possible for someone to look after them for an hour?' Why did I not just say 'no, there is no-one to look after my children, very sorry'? Why did I not just say that? And a fabricated excuse would not even have been necessary, because I could have just said 'no, I do not want to play rounders, thank you very much'. That would have been fine.
Now I am sitting here with sweaty palms, with no food in my stomach, and a heart rate of about 120 bpm - I'm tachycardic!!!! Get the crash team, I'm going into VF, bring some platelets and cross-match 50ccs of O+ (I have no idea what my blood group is, just bring a bit of everything), and someone pick up my kids from nursery!!! I'm dying - I can't possibly play rounders now, I'm sorry.
Possibly a slight overreaction there. It's only a bit of fun, eh? Just playing in front of the WHOLE school, and do not want to embarrass my son who has a hard enough time being accepted by his friends as it is! But it'll be fun. So I'm told. By someone I don't really know very well. She said I could trust her. Oh my god. This is insane. I do not want to run on the field. In the blistering heat. With my Skechers that will probably slip off while I'm running. I'll probably go over on my weak ankle. I'll probably hideously break my ... leg bone. I'll end up in hospital for a week. Hang on - this could be a good thing, I could get a week's rest! I could have nurses looking after me. I could have my meals brought to me in bed. I could get a lot of reading done.
I'm feeling slightly more okay now. I think I will go and eat some lunch. Need some energy if I'm going to help the parents beat the teachers-and-kids. Oh, and I'd better read the rules as well. Yes, there are rules to read - I don't remember reading rules when we played at school. I do remember being rubbish at the game though. I don't think I ever hit the ball (who can hit the ball, with a bat the thickness of a cotton bud?! Ridiculous game!), and don't think I ever made it to the last base (are they called bases? I really don't know), and I'm pretty sure I was always on the losing team. I'm pretty sure my team always lost because I was in it. SO, I will go there this afternoon with very low expectations, and hopefully I will at least come away satisfied that I was right about my lack of skill, and my ability to embarrass myself horribly. This is very unlike me, I know, to be so pessimistic. But please, who in the world could be positive under these circumstances? That's right, not even His Holiness, that fine old Dalai Lama himself could feel cheery about this.
Later I will post an update about the game. Maybe I will draw you a little cartoon of our game - if Noomski has brought me his Tablet to try out. If not you will have to be content with drawing your own mental images from my vivid descriptions of the hell that was the Parents vs TeachersandPupils Rounders Match 2010.

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