Mute Commute

Bump and I played softball last night, which I haven't done in years. It made me feel both young again and very, very old at the same time.

I didn't have sneakers - they're all packed away - so had to wear flip flops. A note to aspiring beer league softball players out there: running the bases in flip flops is not recommended. Especially when you're pretty slow with proper footwear.

My wardrobe fail was overshadowed by a teammate who didn't bring softball clothes and played in his khaki pants and blue button-down shirt. He was called "Khaki," "Business Casual" ("Bizness" for short), "Trousers," "Alpa Chino," and "Plain Front." I think his name was Karl, but I'm not actually sure. At one point he claimed to have worn his softball clothes to work, but changed into this outfit for the game. Then he hit a towering triple over the left fielder's head (who had come in, because com'on, the guy's wearing khakis). That's when the coach announced that everyone was wearing khakis next week.

I rode home with Bump from the game, because the whole point of softball for me is the beer. So on their way to a playdate this morning, Bump, Lumpyhead, Lula and Nathan Jr drove me into work. Instead of listening to NPR in a semi-hypnotic state, I came to work hearing Lula blather randomly about cats and the occasional dog, Lumpyhead point out airplanes and theorize what might live in the Potomac River, and Nathan Jr blat in opposition every time Bump mentioned that the baby needed a nap.

Even in DC traffic, it was a wonderful ride in; the drive home will be very lonely by comparison.