Nate and I stayed up late last night cleaning and rearranging our house (new couch comes today). So it goes to follow that I desperately needed caffeine this morning. After dragging my way through first period, I took a little trip to the Love's on my conference period. 9:45 tends to be a pretty slow time of day there, so imagine my surprise when I walked in on a Subway line, full of girls in warmups, that stretched all the way to the door. An adorable little man was calling over his shoulder, "Good luck, Coach!" as he left. Oh, cool, an all-girls team of some sort.
I noticed a softball logo on the back of one of the girl's jackets, and leaned to the side to try to figure out which school she played for. Weird, couldn't quite make out the words. Well, they were dressed in maroon and white warmups, and they looked like high school or college players... I stepped around them to the cappuccino machine and continued to look over my shoulder at each girl. Maybe a team from Hudson? But why would they be out of school so early? Seriously, where on earth were the logos to tell me where these girls went to school? I turned to get a lid and watched another player walk by, still searching for something, and then walked past the line again, looking at the fronts of the warmups...
And then I realized that I was literally the creepy person in a gas station, ogling a girls softball team. EW. Did it really have to be a group of softball girls? (Side note: I did play softball for a year in high school, but somehow it carried a different connotation in the North... no offense, softball players) And could I not have just pleasantly asked, "Hey, what school are you from?" instead of trying to figure it out myself? Oh my word, at that point I wouldn't have cared who they played for, I was simply mortified. I snatched my coffee up and marched straight for the door, hoping no one had noticed and praying that it was obvious that I was wearing a wedding ring and looking exceptionally prissy. First impressions aren't everything, friends.
It's okay. You can laugh. But how do I always get myself into these situations?
This so sounds like something I would do and the realization I would have. After all, what would be the fun in simply asking where they were from... figuring it out for yourself is half the game. And, if the coaches were smart they would make sure the sweatshirts or whatever were CLEARLY marked so that people didn't stare. Just my 2 cents. Love ya.
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