After soccer practice, I always shudder at the prospect of meeting someone I know .
At that time I am sweaty, tired, thirsty and focused on the middle distance straight ahead, single-mindedly looking for home to float into view. Worse if the match was frustrating and my teammates were difficult and we lost; then I am also cranky, bubbling lividly beneath the surface. Talking to anyone at this time is the last thing on my mind.
Recently, on the homeward journey from the soccer pitch, I chanced to run into a close friend of mine who I’m always happy to see. It had been a while.
“You have never told us what exactly you went to do in Western,” she mentioned.
“I got wives,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, wives. They got needs.”
I tried to look serious, and I was pulling a straight face well enough, but her sustained searching of my eyes did me in. I burst out laughing at my own weird joke.
(I can’t act to save my life. Perhaps I could, with training; but why would I train while sorely lacking movie star looks? But that’s not even the point right now.)