1:45 pm. Room A-148. The ping-pongian fortunes of my department hang on the outcomes of my next match. I’m facing the sweet German woman who belts her jeans too high. She’s got her game face on.
As someone French-sounding announces our names, making me feel like I’m playing at Wimbledon, my boss hands me his Special Paddle. I am too intent on success to note the potential for smutty euphemism.
It’s ping pong time.
Win, and we will be propelled on to a stage worthy of my teammates’ wunderschoen skills.
Lose, and our efforts will be consigned to a footnote in the pages of history.
…
Still, at least United won.
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Tuesday, May 6, 2008 at 9:42 am
Elizabeth
Can we have a blow-by-blow recap please? Bonus points if you can describe each of the competitors as though they were a fine wine and not say “They think it’s all over…it is now.”