Macaroni wanted me to take her to volleyball yesterday
Diamond was all, yeah, you should go – I’ll make dinner
Took me all of 4 seconds to get Macaroni ready and leave
We got there and the coach said, OK parents let’s go!
Um…where…aren’t we here?
One of the Mum’s leaned over to me and said, today we’re playing a game. Parents against kids
Well played, Diamond
So I get up
muttering that I better not break a fingernail or a sweat and head out onto the court – where all the parents, mainly Mums, are stretching and warming up. Wearing their matching tracksuits and fancy gym shoes.
Lucky I’m so secure with my bad-self, or I might have been embarrassed in my leopard print leggings and ugg boots.
So the game starts, parents serve first. And one of the sporty-spice Mums torpedoes the ball over the net, so fucking fast that the kids all duck just to get out of the way.
This set the tone for the rest of the game.
I’m like, really? These kids are 7 & 8 years old, can’t play for shit, and we’re going to see just how much we can thrash them by?
Grownups are aresholes.
My turn to serve. I’m sure it surprises no one to hear that I’ve never played volleyball. My serve was underarm
because I suck to make it easier for the kids *ahem*
My first one went straight into the net. I laughed, the kids laughed. But Bubble-Butt-Bertha, in the Brown velour sweatsuit yelled COME ON!!!
My next 4 serves were good, so she left me alone.
Then it was her turn to serve. Her first serve was a rocket. Straight into the back of one of the Dad’s heads.
I laughed my arse off. No one else did
I kept yelling out to my team mates, ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?
I’m so not joking
The whole game, I kept thinking, I hope the kids kick our butts.
And, I can’t wait to get home and write about you fucked up moles.
Bubble-Butt-Brown-Velour-Bertha’s face was purple about 10 minutes into it.
Both from exerting herself (probably for the first time since 1984 when she was in her bedroom, buttering her muffin to Careless Whisper) and because she was getting so mad with me
She continued to nail every ball like her life depended on it, while yelling at her teammates and screaming at her daughter across the net. I was half hoping she’d have a heart attack. Psycho mama.
By the end of the game, I was knackered, the inside of my ugg boots were wet, and I was ready to kick her in the coochie.
Macaroni ran over with a big smile on her face. Mum, you are so bad at volleyball. I think Dad should come next time
Bertha said, that might be a good idea.
Holy shit, it’s like she WANTED me to slap her fucking face. But I was trying to be good. Think of the children. Think of the children. Think of the children. Grrrrr.
I laughed it off and said, well, there’s something for everyone. Sports have never been my thing. Luckily I have other stuff to fall back on.
like stabbing stupid over competitive biatchesShe actually laughed. And what would THAT be?, she said
She. Did. So.
Then Macaroni piped in, MY Mum is a famous pop star.
Then she took my hand and we walked off.
I considered whether I should get Macaroni therapy for being delusional
But decided instead to just high-five her for being able to bullshit on-the-spot so spontaneously well
Either way, my new pop star name is JERRY TARIA!