Pre-season softball meets can be a real drag. A load of competitive dads and uninterested mums get together in the clubhouse to 'plan' the season. The fathers talk about training regimes and fixture lists, whilst the women use the get-together to gossip and natter over equally inane issues.

The only saving grace at these interminably dull events is Bella, the club secretary. She's a knockout...with two wonderfully large softballs - if you know what I mean!

Last season I found myself sat with Reggie, an old mate with whom I can share stories dating back to high-school. Reg, like me is now 'happily' married and both our good wives were also chatting with each other at the back of the bar. Reg and I spied Bella collecting glasses from the next table, she was, as usual, wearing a particularly low-cut top, with a couple of buttons more than necessary undone.

'I'll never tire of looking at those tits', said Reggie, or at least he thought he'd said. But by some awful piece of unintended comic timing, Reggie's comment came at a moment of near perfect silence in the room. Everybody heard.

The whole room stared at us, and our wives reddened deeply with embarrassment.

Reggie took stock of the situation. How was he going to get out of this one?

'For fucks sake Rob!' He yelled, pointing at me, 'You're married with a kid...she's half your age mate.'

And with that he slowly got up from the table, leaving everybody staring at me with the horrible hatred and pity reserved for middle-aged perverts. I caught Bella's eye for a second, she slowly and purposefully did the buttons up on her blouse and flounced out the room.

I don't think I've ever squared that one with the missus, nor with the softball club for that matter. Still, a mate's a mate, eh?
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 13:26, Reply)