I’m about as sought-after in the softball field as a tall glass of ice cold Coke on a hot summer day (doused with two tablespoons of mashed-almost-liquefied lamb pancreas, 1 1/2 shots of Parigoric and topped with a generous sprinkle of Borax and 3 pieces of Mentos--ground). I had the privilege to play with my hubby’s co-ed softball team last summer on Tuesdays when their team is short. Me, whose skill is confined to a batting average of 100% -- in hitting flying invisible balls.  The only thing I can recall now is how I dragged the team to a few pathetic losses (“You’re already out, Clarisse, you can let go of the bat now…easy..easy…”), because toward the end of the season hubby started coming up with 1001 Time-to-Spare-My-Spouse-(and-me)-from-Embarassment Creatively-simulated Realistic Excuses. One time, his friend J asked, “Do you want to play with us next Tuesday, Clarisse?”  and as soon as he overheard this, hubby ran toward us like a victim of an uncontrollable downhill-rolling shopping cart, thereby butting in before I could exercise my freedom of speech, “Her Carpal Tunnel has been acting up and I don’t want her hurting herself any further.”  There goes my softball career.

Fast forward to a year later. Last Tuesday, I was sitting on a bleacher after hubby’s softball game when I overheard the boys talking about the upcoming co-ed league. J (as if he never learned) blurted out, “You're playing with us on co-ed tuesdays, Clarisse!” giving me that “You better do” stare. Or maybe he was just trying to vie for an Oscar – the Most Polite Script Ever Delivered to a Teammate-slash-Friend’s Wife in a sports film Award. Hubby quickly said to me in a loud and thunderous voice audible to anyone within 20,000 miles, “But you’re dancing at the Aloha Festival in SF, you’ve got other shows lined up for the summer, and your classes…your practices fall on the same day!” He even muttered vaguely about a hula competition that hawaiians probably haven't even thought of (LIAR!).  I don’t know if he’s just really being proud of me, OR he is trying to pull off Excuse # 542 of the 1001 Time-to-Spare-My-Spouse-(and-me)-from-Embarassment Creatively-simulated Realistic Excuses. Because I’m pretty sure that if that one didn’t work, he will plot to make my lactose intolerance act up by putting powdered milk in my multi-vitamin pills on Tuesday mornings. Pretty soon, he will be traveling into the future, inventing excuses for sports-related proposals I haven’t even received yet.

I rest my case. I’ll be dancing my way all summer then. I’m about as sought-after in a hula show as gobs of hot white rice anyway.  Plain, but edible at least.