S.R.Claridge writes Mystery and Romantic Suspense novels. Her work has been said to have the energy of Dan Brown, the mystery of Mary Higgins Clark and the humor of Janet Evanovich. Claridge novels will take you to the edge of your seat, keep you guessing until the very end and ultimately warm your heart. It is on the pages of every S.R.Claridge novel that Mystery and Sensual Suspense collide.

For more information on bookings, interviews and upcoming releases, please visit the author website and Facebook fan page.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

My Bloomin' Arse

Every year my son’s baseball team has a pre-season, Mothers versus Sons baseball game.  The moms have won the past two years.  This year…though we won, I lost…that is, I lost a piece of my dignity.

I grew up playing fast-pitch softball so I am no stranger to swinging a bat.  In fact, batting is one of my favorite sports-type activities to do.  It feels good to nail the ball and watch it soar into the outfield.  It makes me feel powerful and it's a great stress-reliever, ridding the body of any pent-up tension.  My dad, Gary Woods, was a star baseball player at Mizzou, was recruited by the New York Yankees, and has pitched batting practice for the St. Louis Cardinals for the past thirty years.  He has taught me well.  Suffice to say, baseball is in our blood.

I may like my stilettos and make-up, but on the field I’m no girly-girl.  I can man-up at the plate.  I can run the bases and play first base or any of the outfield positions.  In other words, I’m not a wimp when it comes to playing the sport.  So, what happened on Saturday…

The problem was I was rushed and I didn’t stretch out.  Saturday morning I took my daughter to rehearsal, then ran to pick up my husband’s prescriptions, went to the grocery store, rushed home to unload the groceries, got in a twenty-five minute quick workout, showered, got dressed, did my hair and make-up, rushed out the door to pick my daughter up from rehearsal and get her to piano lessons, and then rushed from piano lessons to the Mother-Son baseball game.  As I pulled up to the field, the game was just getting ready to start.  All of the moms were warming up their arms as I leapt from my Suburban, kicking off my heels and pulling off my skirt while in motion.  I slipped on shorts over my leggings and removed my blouse so to be able to play in my tank top.  Off came the jewelry, on came the socks and tennis shoes and I pulled my hair into a pony tail.  I was ready…or so I thought.

I took to the plate without even a practice swing.  As the ball came toward me, I nailed it!  A fly ball straight over the left-fielders head, scoring two runs.  That’s the good news.  The bad news was when I took off to run, I pulled the muscle that leads from my left upper thigh into my butt.  I hobbled to first base and when the ball was over-thrown, I hobbled to second; at which time I called time out and brought in a pinch runner.  I was in excruciating pain and knew there was no way I could make it to the third if the next batter hit the ball.

How do you humiliate yourself in front of your son’s baseball team?  Hurt your butt and have to spend the rest of the game lying on the grass with an ice pack on your ass! 

So, the moms won …but I lost some dignity in the process. Aw, the thrill of victory and the agony of my bloomin’ arse!  ~  



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