We have had our Wii system for over a year and in that time I have failed spectacularly at table tennis, bowling, baseball, and golf.
Next, by simply shelling out the amount of cash normally required for extensive plastic surgery, I was able to purchase another game pack that gave me the chance to fail at jogging, bicycling, yoga, and an island treasure hunt.
I also bombed at piloting an airplane around the resort island, but that’s championship stuff and I don’t like to brag. Who would have thought airplanes were resistant to extreme heights? Or the ocean.
Judging from the number of comments on a certain FaceBook page, this display of inadequacy brought happiness and joy to my children. It's the least I can do as a mother.
Recently, in the midst of cleaning a glacier of grape jelly off the game controller, I came across a new threat. An accidental click of a button brought up the dreaded. . .hula hoop. It shimmered onscreen like a beefcake vampire and waggled enticingly in my direction.
I remember the toy fondly. As a ten year old with the incredible figure of a vertical blind, I could keep a hula hoop in action long enough to juggle a pair of peanut butter sandwiches, a strawberry milkshake, and two fun-sized Snicker bars into their desired position inside my bottomless belly.
I gazed at the onscreen figure twirling the hula hoop on her virtual hips with a motion as fluid as gravy over mashed potatoes.
How hard could it be?
“How hard could it be” are the words most likely to result in an untimely You Tube video; the kind that becomes traditional viewing at family reunions and is shown as a training video at the Ringling Brothers School for Clowns.
I was about to commit an act of physical fitness. I swore the dog to secrecy, hitched up my Betty Boop sweat pants and gave it a whirl.
Turns out gravity works.
I’m not sure what Betty Boop’s original talent was, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve flapping around the pudgy knees of an aerobics class dropout like a pirate flag in a hurricane. For me, bending over is a full body sport. Trying to stop was like asking a Nascar driver to turn right. I attempted an emergency exit and ended up in a position that caused the dog to blush and put the goldfish in peril. The lovely Betty popped her garters and the curl came out of her hair.
When the Captain came through the door, I was undulating like a caught catfish, clutching at Betty Boop with one hand as she slid down my legs like an eight ounce soda in a six ounce glass, and singing Proud Mary at the top of my range, which is unfortunately one that humans can hear.
That was the day Betty Boop retired to an assisted living center in Miami.
And the Captain docked his dinghy for good.