Tuesday, August 18, 2009

On second thought, I'll hang on to my virginity.


In tennis, someone yells, "let" to stop the play, ignore the point in progress, and start again. Where I play, it's usually because some Titanic survivor's ball has escaped the boredom of ladies' doubles and rolled onto an adjacent court, pleading for refugee status after being tucked up a pair of 86-year-old tennis panties.

Imagine if you could call a let in real life. A "do over" that could potentially erase whatever was happening at the time, so you could simply move on – perhaps in a wiser direction. A life let would mean fewer broken hearts. No Monica Lewinski. No rug burn, (well maybe a bit of rug burn) and no Bush administration, round two. Jon and Kate would have shagged once and avoided "Plus 8" and that ridiculous King Koil hairdo of hers. No doubt John McCain would have partnered up outside of Alaska. And Hugh Grant would have chosen a cold shower over a hot hooker. The list is endless.

This past weekend, during my weekly Sunday morning men's doubles game, one of my opponents yelled "let!". I looked around and couldn't see any hazards, but I did see a big grin on his face. I turned to see an attractive young girl walking behind the court. After she passed, he just laughed and said, "Sorry, I was distracted... go ahead".

Now, if I were indeed the man hater I was accused of being this past weekend, I would have found that stoppage of play offensive. If I truly loathed men, as one man suggested, I would have stormed off the court and joined a book club, or a La Leche League, whatever that is. Instead, I laughed and thought how playing tennis with the guys is actually the highlight of my week. I think I've mentioned this before, but I like being one of the boys.

As for me being a man hater – poppycock. Fair to say I do not suffer fools of any gender gladly, in fact not at all, which is why writing is so damn much fun. And sure, I like poking fun at men because – while easy targets – most men don't get all huffy and defensive and cry "sexism" when you call them assholes or make fun of their short game. In fact, I've found most men actually like the attention – negative or otherwise. And, while I seldom get complaints – I hear from more disgruntled readers when I'm too limp dicked and playing nice. So, I guess you could say I only hate men who lack a sense of humour and accuse me of being a man hater, which is kind of a vicious circle – like crying because you're fat, all the while getting your Twinkies all soggy with big, fat salty tears. Hey wait a minute... "let!". "Let!". Why am I justifying myself like I'm married to the asshole? If your feelings are hurt, fuck off and join Oprah's book club.

Thank you, I feel so much better now. Play on.

Plus, how could I be a man hater when I almost pass out every time Andy Roddick serves and his shirt flies up exposing those little hip muscles that will eventually turn into love handles. I'd never hate Andy, even when he's all soft and bitter after his divorce from that hateful Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.

How could I hate a gender that can buckle your knees with one firm hand on your lower back; and smell so good after shaving even when covered with little bits of bloody Kleenex; and fix stuff; and look so damn fine in a good suit and tie. Oh sure, you've got the occasional asshole on your team, like Michael Vick and Hitler – but hey, we take responsibility for Celine Dion and Roseanne Barr and Madonna and Lisa Raitt and Shania fucking Twain and Pipi Longstocking.

How could I be a man hater when my last thought before sleep (just after licking the Twinkie icing off of my lips) is the well-being and happiness of the wee man in the bedroom next door.

Furthermore, would a man hater promote Nuts 4 Ribs, an event in support of testicular cancer awareness happening on the Halifax waterfront this Saturday? I think not. But I like a good rack of ribs and nuts as much as the next guy.

Besides, I flew all the way to Toronto for a big, fat hug last week and it sure as hell wasn't from Serena Williams.

Maybe he meant man eater.


The 3rd Annual Nuts 4 Ribs is happening this Saturday, August 22 from 11 am til 11 pm on the Halifax waterfront (next to the Waterfront Warehouse). There will be a ball hockey tournament, beer, and of course, ribs! What more could a gal want. For more info go to: www.nuts4ribs.com.