So, today I picked up a couple of cans of pink tennis balls at Target. I don't know why they vacuum-seal tennis balls. Can someone explain this to me?

Anyway, I picked up these ball-cans, mostly because they were filled with pink tennis balls, and I'm such a girl lately. I don't know what's going on. Next thing you know I'm going to dressing in head-to-toe frills and drawing unicorns and rainbows on my peechee folder and squeeeeee!

I also bought a new pink bike helmet for myself. Because my other one is black and my husband keeps using it. And again, my bike is pink. The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize, right?

The plan is to "play" "tennis." I keep stumbling across my tennis racket, and have vague memories of playing tennis with friends and thinking it was fun.

I don't remember being any good at it, and if the rest of my life is any indicator, the only thing that comes more natural with age is sarcasm, but whatever. I'm going to take my kids to the tennis courts tomorrow, and show them how it is (not) done.

Maybe I'm giving them enough of a lesson in impulse shopping to make up for my lack of tennis skills.

We'll see, though. And heck, since the kids are total beginners, I'm sure to be better than they are at it. I'll just have to keep my trash talking to a minimum since my short fuse doesn't do well with weeping youngsters who just can't lose gracefully to their mother who hasn't played tennis in like, 70 years, and she's still better than they are.

And then, I'll blame any lack of athletic prowress on my part on being pregnant three times. And I'll blame any lack of athletic prowress on their parts on their father's genetics.

Oh yeah, this should be a great memory-making outing.

Or a great blog entry.