In an effort to work on our physical fitness and in order to take advantage of the brief and intermittent summer that exists in Victoria, my spinsters-in-training and I decided to take advantage of a sunny day by heading to the park for some Spinster Sports. We set out just after high noon, raquets and bocce balls in hand. For the occasion we all donned our best work out gear. Most of us wore shorts, a couple of us wore running shoes, one of us wore flip flops, and in the case of one Spinster's Apprentice *cough* Heather*cough* beige snake print Ann Klein loafers were deemed suitable. One thing we had in common was this: no lulu lemons or other "sexy workout wear" was worn. The closest thing to sexy was Heather's hot pink shorts, and perhaps Alex's "Hot Flashes" cat t-shirt. Aside from that it was all cut-off elasticated waistband shorts that may or may not have belonged to Alex's grandma, the notorious "workout geese" gym t-shirt, knee high socks, pink sequined visors, and side pony tails.
First up on the roster was tennis. As we approached the tennis courts from across the field, we could see that two men were already playing on one of the two courts. This was fine with us as we all wanted to play together anyway. The opportunity to play "doubles" after being perpetually single was simply too good to pass up. The closer we got to the courts the more the two men started to look over in our direction. I'm sure we must have looked breathtaking; I am quite confident that as we walked toward them (four astride with tennis gear in hand) that everything became slow motion and Dreamweaver started playing out of nowhere. The sexual magnetism we emitted was so strong that as soon as we entered the tennis courts and began warming up and applying SPF 50 the two men vacated the premises immediately, you know, to prevent themselves from ravaging us.
Tennis proved to be a successful venture. Having only three rackets, one person was always free to heckle the other three, which I found to be very motivating. With every swing of the racket, no matter how feeble or poorly executed, grunts in the style of Venus Williams echoed through the park along with made-up scores that were shouted out at random intervals - "27 - LOVE!'. Many unnecessary lunges were executed. In the end, we all concluded that the most physically challenging part of tennis is running to the net every to collect the errant balls every ten seconds.
My love of bocce stems from a family history of playing bocce at summer gatherings. This is not a "fun family event", and winning and losing is in no way a trivial matter. The lawn in our back yard is hand manicured by my father, a man who has a very particular opinion about exactly what constitutes "good grass". I will apologize right now to everyone who will be redirected to this blog looking for information on marijuana. Not that kind of grass. Where was I? Oh yes, there was a time I found my dad removing crab grass by hand, using a regular dinner knife. I'm sure I don't have to point out to anyone that this is a needle-in-a-haystack style endeavor. Using the information I have now provided, you can perhaps imagine accurately just how manicured the lawn really is. You can also imagine, perhaps, that the same "particularness" exists when it comes to Gough Family Bocce Tournaments. My dad actually wears a tape measure clipped to his pants pocket, because in his mind, estimating who is closer by simply looking (or by measuring using foot or hand widths) is an antiquated and inaccurate system of measurement used only by amateurs (and apparently spinsters). There is drinking, there is a considerable amount of talking smack, and there is also a broken off broom handle that exists solely for the purpose of making sure that "everyone throws from exactly the same spot".
Spinster Bocce is not nearly as competitive as family bocce, some might even say it's quite cooperative. We picked teams based on what colours went well both with our outfits and with each other. It ended up being me and Heather vs Jena and Alex. Heather and I both seemed to prefer the "long game" where as Jena and Alex seemed to prefer the "short game". Infer from this what you will.
In the middle of our game the parks & rec people decided they would like to bring the tractor out to mow the field, perhaps in a vain attempt to encourage us to leave. We, of course, simply moved our game up near the playground for a more urban bocce feel. On a random side note the tractor operator definitely took a smoke break in the middle of the field...I mean fully stopped the tractor and got out to have a smoke, which was surprising considering the time it takes to mow the field is 20-25 minutes tops. Also, as our game continued, a completely different parks & rec worker showed up to turn the sprinklers on so he could "check them", surprise surprise they were in perfect working order and the field was now conveniently too wet for us to gallivant on...insert conspiracy theory here.
In the end, Alex, Jena, and the short game were victorious. Also, I am proud to report that we played a very ladylike game, no swearing, smack talking, or arguing. Sort of.
True Spinster Sports
As we collapsed on our picnic blanket, satisfied and exhausted *sigh*, the true Spinster Sports began; eating kettle corn and tootsie pops, spreading gossip, and referring to former lovers by their latin names; ie douchbagus giganticus, hipsteritis inferiosis, and cigarettosis mediocritis. If there were a Spinster Olympics we would have had the gold medal in the bag.