So I got this friend who, like me, plays competitive tennis.
(Pregnant pause while 92% of you clear the room.)
Anyway, she’s playing level 3.0 women’s doubles (advanced lower level, if you will) for her Canyon Creek Country Club team last Friday when her opponents from Royal Oaks Country Club walk on the court and she gets a tad, let’s say, dis-stract-ted.
“I’ll admit,” says my female friend about another female, “Mandy’s got a great figure.”
Yes, tell us s-l-o-w-l-y. As my hero, Robot Chicken says, "That pleases me."
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But who, exactly, is this “Mandy”?
“She’s pretty good,” says my friend of Mandy’s game. “But her biggest weapon is her husband. He’s in the stands watching us. As if he’s not cute enough, he’s got a little Golden Retriever puppy. We didn’t have a chance. But Mandy’s very, very nice. We wanted to hate her, but we just couldn’t.”