Don't Get Cocky
First, there was ScreenplayGate: I felt pretty good about "Deadbeat Boyfriends," thought I had a decent shot at the McKnight Fellowship, then found out that not only did I not make the finals, but I lost to a vampire movie.
Then there was today.
I headed to Life Time Fitness over lunch with my new racquetball racket in tow. I purchased the Ektelon Triple Threat with the aid of a Sports Authority gift card from my parents (a birthday present). Tired of ellipital machines, and knowing that I'll be feasting over lunch tomorrow at a new Brazilian steakhouse, I thought it wise to test out the new racket and work up a little sweat. I've been slowly getting back into racquetball over the last few months, playing against a designer in our office who has proven to be fairly easy prey. (His nickname is "The Hurricane"; I've boasted that I've turned him into more of a tropical storm the two times we've played.)
That's when Brad arrived.
He knocked on the glass door and asked if I was waiting for anyone. "No," I said, instantly suspicious (of what, I don't know). "Want to get in a game, then?" he asked. Considering how lame it would sound to say "no, I just want to hit around by myself like a loser," I agreed to one game.
It was 14-1 before I rallied for a meager 3 points to make it not-quite-so-unrespectable for a 14-4 loss.
Never get cocky. There's always a Brad out there knocking on the door, and he might be a vampire.
Then there was today.
I headed to Life Time Fitness over lunch with my new racquetball racket in tow. I purchased the Ektelon Triple Threat with the aid of a Sports Authority gift card from my parents (a birthday present). Tired of ellipital machines, and knowing that I'll be feasting over lunch tomorrow at a new Brazilian steakhouse, I thought it wise to test out the new racket and work up a little sweat. I've been slowly getting back into racquetball over the last few months, playing against a designer in our office who has proven to be fairly easy prey. (His nickname is "The Hurricane"; I've boasted that I've turned him into more of a tropical storm the two times we've played.)
That's when Brad arrived.
He knocked on the glass door and asked if I was waiting for anyone. "No," I said, instantly suspicious (of what, I don't know). "Want to get in a game, then?" he asked. Considering how lame it would sound to say "no, I just want to hit around by myself like a loser," I agreed to one game.
It was 14-1 before I rallied for a meager 3 points to make it not-quite-so-unrespectable for a 14-4 loss.
Never get cocky. There's always a Brad out there knocking on the door, and he might be a vampire.
Comments
"Hey, watchout for Brad!"
"Dude, don't look now. Incoming Brad at three o'clock."
"Think it'll fly? I have only one word for you: Brad."
here's hoping the next time you go racquet-to-racquet with the guy, you stick it to your Brad and make all the non-Brads out there proud.
You just need to challenge Brad to a writing competition. That will restore you pride.