I was only there a few days, but my mother calls me Calamity Jane, so I did my best to live up to the name.
The girls wanted to take a break, so I suggested pickleball. I had paddles and balls and the will to teach. What I didn't have was tennis shoes, but I didn't let that stop me! Did I play barefoot? Yes. Did I get huge blisters on the bottom of both feet and have to sit with my feet on a bag of ice for two days? Also, yes.
By yesterday I had recovered enough to limp to my car and pack my luggage.
Which is when I burst into Rachel's neighbor's apartment by mistake.
If you knew how long I stood in a complete stranger's living room before my brain finally caught up with reality, you'd probably recommend a neurologist.
My internal monologue went something like this:
"Where did those pickleball paddles come from? Did I leave my paddles here? Those aren't MY paddles… Hey… this isn't Rachel's apartment. Wrong furniture. Male cologne. RETREAT!"
I spun around, scrambled out the door yelling, "I'm so sorry!" and hobbled as fast as my blistered feet would allow.
I have no idea if anyone saw me, but the police never showed up, so I'm counting it as a successful getaway.
The good news is that Rachel now plays pickleball… and I found her a partner who lives right next door.
My work here is done.
Enjoy your weekend!
