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Thursday, September 30, 2010

Why, I Otta...!

Yes, Officer. It was one of these Cads, these Ner-do-well's who threw the... Oh, never mind!

I was beaned by a tennis ball at my church today.

Some kid who smelled like feet with braces and poor aim nailed me as I walked into the gym to grab tables. I slowly turned and politely asked them to leave the room because frankly, I didn’t want to have a bunch of unsupervised kids I didn’t know throwing stuff at me and, possibly seeing me cry.

Actually I am used to lumps on the back of my head – usually acquired during my stint as a young ballroom dancer. But a lump is a lump, left either by a tennis ball in the lord’s house or from an elbow from Vanessa, the tallest girl in the world who was assigned to be my dancing partner - who I was supposed to lift over my head and twirl like a tree trunk lighter than air (plus ten pounds of rhinestones and a sharp and pointy thing in her hair).

But back to the beaning, the pointing & laughing. And, of course, the crying.

Truth be told, I may have freaked out just a tinnsey. Of coerce the kids laughed at the old guy with the lump, tripping over their size 13 honkers when I asked them to leave. To make matters worse, as I loaded the tables into my mini-van not one of the church dudes standing around not supervising asked if they could help me - as I am sure any kind church dude should when an old man with a lump on the back of his head is alone loading tables. And I think, out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the men give me an evil eye.

There is no doubt in my feeble little mind that this guy was the parent of big foot – who was not being supervised in the gym when some poor man was attacked! Assailed, probably by the prince of headgear and his friend super orthodonture boy as they hurled a…a softball at me deliberately to get me to leave them alone. Or maybe it was to enforce some gang territory of which I was unaware (not having received my copy of the Big -Footed -Teen- With -Braces- Basketball Throwers Weekly in the mail.

Maybe if the evil eyeing man had been attending to his son’s completely antisocial behavior his senses as a parent/sentinel/warden would have been properly engaged and there would have been a proper lack of time and ability to harass the old & lumpy man touting tables. In fact, rather than bullying poor almost-senior citizens, perhaps one of the throbbing, gathering mob could have seen fit to extent a hand of Christian-like help-y-ness to the meek and gentle VICTIM with a goiter and a hunch on his back, so that the sweet old man that I am wouldn’t have to mutter to himself and make a mountain out of a tennis ball.

Someone needs to teach this kids a lesson, and I am just the man to...

Excuse me? ...Well, I'm sure it was an accident... Oh, no thank you young fellow, this is the last table I need moved.

But aren’t you sweet for asking?

1 comment:

  1. When I was in elementary school, a boy in a public pool swam up and pinched my behind. I pinched him back. You should have beaned that kid and then asked him to leave and then asked his stink-eye Dad and cronies to help you move the tables.

    I like you,