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(Preface: I told you I was a procrastinator. Picture worthy day is finally beginning!)

Last night I suggested to Wesley that he and I play a game of tennis. He was beyond thrilled about the idea. After work we visited a local sporting goods store, bought rackets and balls, and were on our way to the tennis courts! I didn’t warn him about my lack of athletic ability, but I had a little hunch that he was on to me anyways. It was a nice night in Dallas, so naturally, the courts were packed. As we waited for a court to open up, I snapped a quick picture of us. I also mentioned that I might not be the best tennis player in the world. He understood.

As we busted out our shiny new rackets (mine was pink, of course), I made note of the people on the courts to each side of us. They seemed pro, so immediately I was a little intimidated and nervous about the possibility of accidentally hitting balls onto their courts. And this is where the story pretty much takes a nose-dive. It was terrible. One minute I would hit a ball into the net, the next minute I would hit it with the aim of a 4 year old swinging a bat for the first time.  I felt like a disgrace to mankind as I watched my poor boyfriend chase the balls from one side of the court to the other, all so that the strangers on the courts next to us could play an uninterrupted game.

My point: I’m an awful athlete, but I learned something valuable about Wesley. His patience is that of a saint. He even said he’d play with me again. What a guy!