But this week I wanted to get to know Third Base. For my first at-bat, I knock a single into left. From the opposite corner I give Third Base a little wink. She knows what's coming. I'm all dressed up in my uniform. I've got the good cologne on. Not the cheap stuff, but rather the expensive stuff bought for cheap and slightly torn open at a TJ Maxx.
Third Base was as good as reached.
My teammate Pete drives the ball into left center, and I'm chugging toward Third Base with wine and condoms.
I'm waved around Second Base. Getting to Second Base feels fine, but who are we kidding? These bases knew what this was. I want Third Base. Halfway there, I'm already thinking of things I'll say when I reach Third Base. "Do people come here often? You know what, I don't want to know. I'm sorry, that's none of my business. Ugh, I'm so stupid!"
No, no, no, just be yourself.
Am I moving too fast? No time to adjust, it's time for me to go down. I begin to slide in there, but it's too late. Third Base doesn't seem as interested as I thought she would be. She wants me out of there.
The whole encounter is pretty painful. I try to plant my foot and stand my ground but that didn't work out so well. She wants nothing of it. All that flirting we did across the diamond? What a floozy. Maybe she's been stepped on too many times by too many players.
Still, I would have been gentle. It didn't need it to come to this...
|Okay, little swollen. My heart will survive.|
|Alright, some bruising. In the game of love, these things happen.|
|Holy cankle! My perfect calf to ankle ratio!|
Third Base -- what a bitch! I'm not bitter or anything, but while making my move on Third, I did notice it was awfully sandy and dusty down there.
PS - Feel free to add these to your photo library, those of you with foot fetishes. They are pretty spectacular. And for those of you into feet and S&M... you're welcome.