Goin' For That Gold

Last week, I told you about the time my sister and I broke into a stranger's house. Before you get the impression that we're a couple of badasses, allow me to offer another story for counter balance.

One summer, when we were somewhere around eleven, Amy and I got obsessed with badminton. Like, obsessed. Every morning we woke up, watched The Price is Right, and headed straight to the badminton court in the backyard. (I'm using the word "court" pretty loosely here. The boundaries of this court were along the lines of the first pine tree to that clump of dandelions and even with the garage, ten yards away.)

And there we stayed. For hours. Every day. And that's not even the bad part.

Between each game we'd take turns interviewing each other like we were at the Olympics or something. With totally straight faces, we'd say things like, "Well, you know Amy's a pretty fierce opponent, so I was a little nervous going into today's match. But I just kept my focus, relied on my training, and managed to pull off the win."

God, we were losers. Despite everything that was said in our post game interviews.