Food Is ... Not Sex

 Sometimes when Shelley plays, she does this charming little thing where she has us all touch our racquet heads to the net and rub gently back and forth to get good energy into our collective game.  She usually suggests this when someone is playing particularly poorly and thus feeling bad about herself. 

This was the case recently, when Debi the Sub and I were playing against Shelley and Kelley.  Debi the Sub and I were not in our groove and our posture was taking a hit with each point we lost.  Once down four games, we were all droopy and dejected and Shelley called us all to the net for some Tennis Mojo.  We all placed our racquet heads on the net and rubbed them from side-to-side.  Then, in unison, we lifted the racquets off the net and high into the air as Shelley cheered, “Go, tennis ladies!”

“I hate being called a lady,” someone said.  So we put our racquets back on the net and lifted them in unison to the chant, “Go, MILFs!”

However, two of the players weren’t Mothers.  So we decided to modify it to WILFs.  But that made someone else visibly uncomfortable.  So Debi the Sub suggested a whole new tact and we rubbed our racquets on the net and yelled, “Food is Good!” and everyone was really happy and comfortable with that, so we went back to playing. 

We all felt a little like deserters for our unbridled allegiance toward food over sexuality.  We laughed about it, but it was not a mirthful laugh.  We played, but something had shifted. 

Our game did turn around after that chant, but I’m still not so sure it was really worth it.