The Ball, The Court, and Further Nonsense

"Racquetball is the only sport where you can simultaneously be looking at the ball and have it hit you in the back of the head going 90 miles an hour." -Brian Regan

Once upon a time I wrote this post about the phrase "the ball's in your court" -- you should read to completely understand what I'm about to say.

Like I wrote there (that was your second chance to read it) I brought up the fact that if I'm in my own court wouldn't I have my own ball? I mean, really, it is 2012 and gender roles have been shot to Hades, I clearly have my own ball.  Problem is that I've recently discovered what sport I'm playing... racquetball.

I saw this boy and said to myself, "hey I've got this ball, maybe I should throw it to him."  But in racquetball you don't just throw a ball, you throw it into the air and then smack it as hard as you can with your racquet.  No biggie right?

Actually, it is a biggie, because instead of passing him the ball to invite him to the game in what I perceived to be one really big court was really two smallish courts separated by a glass wall. I hit that ball to him with all my might, it hit the glass wall and came flying back with a vengeance, over and over and over again.

I found myself in the fetal position, arms wrapped protectively around my head, screaming silently waiting for my over attempt to stop violently flinging from wall to wall.

It did, and now I'm standing here, face pressed to the glass, feeling a mixture of relief and shock that he didn't seem to notice my over-achieving ways.

But I still want him to come play with me.

What should I do?