Page 35 of Perfect Mess

Then came Howard, who suffered from a severe case of forgetfulness, so even though he had been coming for months, he always thought every lesson was his first.

Edna was next. Edna loved to bake, but refused to stand near the no volley zone, which in pickleball terms, we call “the kitchen”, so the group had fun teasing her about it.

And finally, last but not least, our pickleball virgin, Jack.

“Okay, paddles up,” I commanded. The group raised their paddles, except for Howard, who was watching a butterfly. I made a mental note to bring a whistle for the next class.

“Today we’re going to practice dinking, and then apply our lessons in a game.” The class stood attentively. “Who can tell me why we dink?”

Howard raised his hand. “My name is Howard.”

“Nice to meet you, Howard.” I turned back to the class. “Dinking. Purpose. Any ideas? Go.”

Edna stepped forward. “Dinking is like foreplay.”

Some days at the Senior Center were true trials of patience. I could tell this was going to be one of those days. Edna’s husband had died years ago. She confided in me once that she hadn’t had a single date since. She had later followed up with me to clarify that by date, she meant cuddle time. And then later still she had followed up again to clarify that by cuddle time, she really meant sex. I had told her I had gathered as much.

“Okay, thank you for that, Edna.” Not wanting to encourage her, I was about to explain the true purpose of the dink shot when Jack raised his hand.

“What do you mean, dinking is like foreplay?” he asked. I shot him a look and mouthed the word,No!

“It’s all about getting into rhythm,” Edna explained. “You know, toy with ‘em a little. Tickle their …”

“Okay, we get it, Edna, thank you,” I said.

Edna gave Jack a wink. As much as I tried to fight it, disturbing visions of Edna, naked, engaged in “cuddle time,” popped into my head.

To my horror, Edna continued. “You know, give ‘em a little backspin. A little topspin. Give ‘em a little somethin’ on the front side. Give ‘em a little somethin’ on the back side.”

She had the class’s complete attention. Even Harold’s.

“Then, when they least expect it, WHAM!” Edna smacked her fist in her palm. “Go in for the big shot.”

I really needed to get myself a whistle.

“Okay,” I said, raising my voice to regain everyone’s attention. “Fine. Yes. I guess. Dinking is a little like foreplay. But it’s also about patience. Biding your time. Testing. Exploring your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Lewis raised his hand. “What if you don’t have any weaknesses?”

“Lewis, everyone has weaknesses.”

“Do you have weaknesses?”

I could see Jack looking at me, a grin on his face. “This isn’t about me,” I told Lewis. It would be a shame later if he accidentally tripped over a pickleball and broke a hip.

I saw Jack with his hand raised.Good God.“Yes, Jack.” This wasn’t just a trial of patience. This was a reenactment of Dante’s journey through hell.

Jack asked, “If you really want to score, why not just take your big shot right away? Why wait?”

“That’s called banging,” I explained. “Going hard and fast.”

“Bangers hate dinking,” said Edna.

“But do dinkers hate banging?” Jack asked. I would have given my left ovary for a whistle at that point.

Dorothy raised her hand.

“Yes, Dorothy.”

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