Today at work, I "helped" Susan's advisory play kickball. I think this is because I am on a kickball league (which, granted, only won a single game)...I was actually called a ringer.
So I bound up to a crowd of 6th graders, happy as a clam, until they decide that they need to pick teams. Flashback to when I was in Middle School: picking teams is no fun. Picking teams is an exercise in humiliation and how long I can stand in one spot and "pretend" that I haven't been picked last. Seriously, I can think of no single time when I was picked in the top 1/2 for any team...unless, of course, one of my friends was captain.
NEWS FLASH! GUESS WHO GOT PICKED FIRST????
That's right--THIS GIRL!
Ok, I realize I shouldn't be thrilled, as I am a 28 year old woman playing a game with 11 and 12 year-olds. AND, my skills were wildly overstated when I was called the "ringer." However, I'm going to take the joy where it's offered. Today, joy came in the form of being picked first for a 6 grade kickball team.
Oh man, I was good too. I was wearing ok shoes (compared to the flip flops and clogs sported by 1/4 of the players) and knew kickball lingo (bunt, run, fly ball, foul, fair, etc--impressed??). I made some masterful outs...even managing to outrun the birthday boy on his way to 1st.
Yeah, that's right. I beat the 6th grader whose birthday we were celebrating. And then I think I yelled "YES!" while throwing a fist into the air.
Seriously, folks...this was a big day for me. Sure, I can run for hours...but I've never been even halfway decent at competitive group sports, let alone the MVP.
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