beulahbondo's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A little ping, a little pong Anything but perky and diaryish, I write to you, dear reader, during my last minutes of wakefulness tonight. A strenuous evening of ping-pong, no dinner, and a stiff Stinger cocktail have left me but a limp ribbon. And I have to get up so early tomorrow. Not just fake early, like when I set the alarm for 7:30 but get up at 8. How to describe the debacle that was mixed doubles tonight at the East Cambridge home of Mr. Ron Coe? While the chicken twirled slowly, slowly in the hot wind of the Ronco Set-It-and-Forget-It-o-matic, the Greyhound and Sgt. Donna Puma came up from behind to sting the formerly undefeated me and Mr. Ron Coe, what, 22-20? Yes, we went into extra points, and it was eyelash to eyelash there at the flat green monster. Sgt. DP, a former tennis pro/candystriper with master's degrees in public health and sports administration (as well as criminology), sharked us with her faux-naive serve, and the Greyhound brought out the Weird Spin to distract me. The game went by so fast, frankly, that I have no idea what happened. In mixed singles, the Greyhound and I played a low and mesmerizing set but he still took it, 2-0. Okay, that's all I can wring out of this pore brain tonight, kids. I remind you that any and all of you are welcome to write a guest column or even a part of a guest column! Just sign here or email me. Good night, then. And Kitty dear, I hope your back is feeling better. 12:12 a.m. - 2002-11-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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