||[Sep. 19th, 2006|08:33 am]
Anyone who spends any time around me learns that I can't catch things. Throw a ball at me and the only way I have a chance of catching it is if you threw it directly at my head while I wasn't paying attention and I have no time to think, but just react. Self-defense catching. Of course, make sure someone you love isn't standing directly behind me, because I also excel at self-defense ducking. |
If I do have time to think about it, I will not only not be able to catch it, but I'll do that oh-so-lovely "girly" bad catch, which involves flinching, making an "ooh" face and trying to use my entire upper body as a catcher's mitt...and then still fail to catch it. (Caution: if you're thinking it might be "fun" to see me do this and right now you're making plans...Be warned, I come out of it pissed off that I've once again totally humiliated myself in a pathetic girly-girl fashion. I will blame you and while I can't catch for shit, I can whack with the best of them. And I do NOT whack like a girly-girl.)
Even on the odd times when I do I catch things, it can go terribly awry. The puncture wound from catching the car keys. The re-attaching of the finger tip after catching the wine glass (because sometimes I catch hard or don't know when to stop the catch.) The de-embedding of the Christmas tree ornament....
The only thing I'm worse at than catching, would be throwing. I don't even throw like a girl. I throw like a (fill in your choice of politically insensitive adjectives and descriptors that make fun of physically or mentally challenged individuals) girl with a blindfold on.
Overhand, forget it. I can throw hard, but unless you want the object to plow a furrow in the ground about three feet in front of me....
Underhand? I can lob it...sometimes straight up in the air, which involves the aforementioned self-defense ducking. Usually, wildly in some other direction at some terribly unuseful distance. Heck, softball teams used to come to deathblows fighting over who had to take me on their team.
So, explain why I can plop a ladle in sauce and throw a drop of it into my eye every time? Why when I toss a biscuit to poor Percy I can nail him on the bridge of his nose everytime? How I can drop the car keys with aim so perfect that they go between the bars of the sewer grate. How a simple ice cube tossed into the sink can manage to strike the edge of a glass and break it?
Sometimes I feel hardwired for maximum trauma....
I hated grade school for that very reason.
Thank goodness for horses...they had no choice and no larynx.
How psyched was I to get to high school and discover sports like swimming, field hockey and badminton where there was either no ball involved or you just had to whack the crap out of it!
Some of us were meant to be an umpire by the Fates, I guess. I keep a phobic grip on my keys whenever I cross a sewer grate, but that is because I EXPECT to drop them.
Dodge Ball anyone? Hmmm? Hey, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!! :-)