I’ve lived up to my name yet again.
Tonight, we had a mixer for the softball team I play on in the summer. It’s a Christian league, made up of teams from the churches around town. Ironically, the church I’m looking at joining isn’t a part of the league, so I may have to sneak my way onto my current team next year.
Anyway, a local restaurant kindly sponsors us and pays the majority of our league fees. We’re supposed to head there after games to partake, but let’s just say that doesn’t always happen the way it should. Something about suburban moms playing softball.
This year, we decided to have a preseason party there to at least get things off on the right foot with our very kind sponsor. All you can eat pizza and pop with the six teams (or as many of us as could show – only eight from my team that has almost 20 players), hanging out and catching up.
We all sat down at a series of tables set up to make a U shape. I happened to be near the base of the U. The chair to the left of me was open, and I was talking to the women to the right and across from me. A team was trying to fit their women in to the right of us, and they were short a seat. The asked if we could make room. Sure!
Since the chair to the left of me was open, I just did the scoot from one chair to the next, pop up, over and down. Wayyyyyy down. In fact, all the way down to the floor. Initially, I was stunned. I couldn’t figure out what happened to the pizza I had been holding (it flew out of my hand when I landed and was on the floor behind me).
I swear. There had been a chair behind me. Right? How did I not notice that there was no chair there? By this time, the entire room is staring at me (I’d do it too, were I them), so I turned to look for the chair.
The woman who had been two chairs to my left – new to the team this year and having never played softball before – was sitting there with a horrified look on her face and her hands over her mouth. She slowly pointed to the chair she had pulled back and out of my way. She had thought I was just scooting my chair down, not moving chairs. Uhhh, no.
Not surprisingly, the waitress came over to ensure I was alright. Except for a bruised ego, I was unscathed. Or so I thought. A couple hours later, I can feel a goose egg on my nether regions. And it’s sort of hurting to walk now.
So how do you know if you have a bruised tailbone or if you actually broke it anyway? How funny if I weren’t able to play at the beginning of the season because of an injury suffered eating pizza?