“i will teach you the rules of The Bachelorette,” she says. “it’s pretty complicated, like baseball.”
“but you know all the rules of baseball,” i say, “except of course the part about whether you can throw the ball at runners to get them out.”
“how does an umpire do the strike again?” she stands up and throws her hip to one side and her arms to the other, doing double finger guns. “STRIKE!” she yells.
i laugh hard.
“that’s not a strike that’s auditioning for West Side Story.”
“no. that’s this,” she says, marching in place and snapping her fingers awkwardly.
i continue to laugh hard. hard. hard.