Reading my blog faithfully, of course you know that I’ve joined those dull women choosing tennis as her preferred way of staying halfway in shape. (The other kinds of sports I enjoy more than anything else will not be mentioned here … but I think you know what I’m talking about!)
I’m quite unambitious and lacking any kind of vanity in these regards. I started out with my old racket, only investing in a new one when my wrist started to hurt badly from the vibrations. I still wear my 20-year-old Reeboks and probably will wear them until they are disintegrating around my feet. As for the rest of my outfit? Cheap leggings, cropped or not, plain t-shirts, preferably some I bought at hard rock concerts (one wants to be a bit shocking), a baseball cap I got from one of our sub suppliers and my long-trusted black backpack displaying the Canadian maple leaf flag I bought at ROOTS in Vancouver in the late 90s. And which is far from the styles of fashionable tennis bags one wears today … that’s me.
I love to play tennis. I really do. But I hate to play tennis with other women! Why? Because these housewife types are all about competition, trying to outmatch each other. In every single way. Starting with their standard tennis court uniform of Nike tennis skirts, pink Ralph Lauren tennis shirts, matching baseball caps from the same brand (and colour), full makeup and the best racket, sneakers and bags you can think of. Like … real tennis bags or backpacks, with special compartments for their rackets, balls, etc
Off the court, especially at “official” club functions, think country club style. White pants obligatory, polo shirts and – again – matching sweaters of the usual designer brands thrown “casually” across their shoulders. Not forgetting the blond bleached hair including cheap extensions.
Then, of course, they are also competing in terms of cars (anyone envious of those boring family luxury cars like BMW, Mercedes or Audi?), husbands (doctors, lawyers, bank managers, insurance and real estate guys … anything less is unacceptable) and on the tennis court itself. Nearly scratching each other’s eyes out in the process.
What I really hate about them, though, is their meanness and intolerance. Their talking and whispering behind other women’s backs, those who actually are nice, just want to play and would like to join their groups but are maybe not as “good” as they already are. (Not me, I would never want to join them, it gives me the creeps and goosebumps just thinking about this unthinkable concept!) Well, therefore, I couldn’t care less what they think of me, I have no intention of interacting with them in any way. If they want to, they can talk all they want behind my back. They are so far beneath me in every single way that all they get from me is a cynical smile at best and a cold look and raised eyebrow when I disapprove of their behaviour. That’s all they deserve.