Kickball

I played kickball this evening. You can all kindly pick your jaws up off the floor. I didn't suck.

My dear friend Jeff (who knows better) called this afternoon and said, in an overly excited tone, "What are you doing tonight?" Expecting an invitation to dinner or perhaps an offer to give me my blender back, I responded, "Nothing! What's up?" "Oh good, you're going to play kickball."

I panicked. I backpedaled. "Jeff, you know I'm not athletic AT ALL. You don't want me on your kickball team."  

"I know. This is how desperate I am." 

Upon arrival at the kickball field, I learned that my friend Erika was responsible for the phone call. Thanks Erika, off the Christmas card list. I pleaded with my friend Annie to come play, but as she is currently "injured," she was happy to sit on the sidelines and take pictures to prove to everyone that I actually own a pair of athletic shoes and that I can move quickly even when there's not a bee in the vicinity.

Attempting to keep me out of the outfield, Jeff suggested that I pitch, which was a genius decision on his part. I was so good. I barely had to run and I only had to throw the ball to first base four times.

I caught a pop-up, struck a girl out (which really meant that she kicked it foul two times, but still...), made it on base three times, and didn't look like a complete spaz when I ran. Erika scraped up her knees (karma?) and Annie supportively shivered in the dugout. HOWEVER. I do not appreciate the sarcastic comments from my friends.

Text from friend #1: WAIT. You played kickball?!!?
Phone call from friend #2: Did people see you run? And they still let you play?
Comment from my own mother: Like actual kickball? On purpose?

Best one - BBM from Jeff: Totally proud of you. You were really great.

Thanks. :)