Badminton is scary. As is volleyball, softball and basketball. I am, admittedly, terrible at sports, but I particularly abhor games where an object hurtles toward you, threatening to put out an eye.
Jay loves sports and is naturally good at almost everything. I think it's annoying to him that I duck when we play tennis instead of even trying to hit the ball. Personally, I think ducking is justifiable behavior when a puke-yellowy orb made of carpet-covered ROCK comes flying at your face. Jay says all I need is a good forehand. I think I need hockey pads.
So, naturally, I hate PE. And PE hates me. Or maybe it's just Miss Duffy, the girls' gym teacher at my school. I'm sure when she was my age she had bigger dreams than being a whistle-blowing tyrant. Or maybe not. Maybe she achieved her life goal when she got a job thinking up ever more painful ways for us to spend an hour of our young lives.
Jay says I'm the most unathletic person he's ever known. Sometimes I wonder, if I was good at sports, would I like PE? Would Miss Duffy and I become friends? Would my quads stop burning after one stupid lap around the stupid track?
I mean, correct me if I'm wrong: I think shopping is excellent exercise.