I Change My Mind

I change my mind. Because I can.

I have learned that opinions cannot afford to be fixed. Nor initial impressions, or goodness-gracious, not even time-tempered judgments.

In this changeable world, I choose to change my mind.

Of course, sometimes, I have to be the progenitor of change.

I will limit the descriptions to a distinct group of men, some of which I know too much, others a slighter amount. For loyal readers, you will recognize that group, the summer tennis pros.

The first one. Two summers ago, I was thrown into the company of a visiting pro. He traveled up from Texas, his full-time residence, after he departed his homeland, one of the northern European countries. He was invited to stay by and with The Savior, a former tennis pro himself. I was staying there as well. This fellow, however, made a poor first, second, and forty-fourth impression. He came off as arrogant, self-absorbed, hyper-sexed (or in want or dire need of sex), and generally uncouth. He lounged about the house, watched a lot of television, and presumed that someone, or I would run him around town. He lacked an internal edit function, and would utter the most outrageous, pre-1970s-sounding-macho-sexist statements. They and he were laughable. I could not take him seriously, and in short order, snapped tough sentences at him, in an attempt to keep him in line.

Two years later, my attitude has softened. He is spending the summer here, teaching, like so many others. And he is no longer acting like the super-uber stud. He seems to have been humbled, and is living in a group tennis pro house (much like a filthy fraternity). I realize now that he has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of tennis statistics, which in throw-down conversations, serves a useful purpose - when you want to prove a point. He also stepped up, and did me a solid, about which I cannot describe further, given the hint of illicit, though benign activity it entails (and no, I did not have sex with this guy - that remains non-negotiable). And he grew his hair out - aesthetically more pleasing than the baldy-look. My behavior toward him is generally kinder, now.

The second one is well-known. Tennis Pro. A couple of run-ins in the onset of summer were uncomfortable, to put it mildly. I was angry, but not in a knock-down-drag-out way. No. I was disgusted with what I had let transpire, and his physical presence reminded of the bonehead mistake I'd made. Still, the couple of times I saw him, it looked as though he was frightened, his eyes growing wide, as if he expected me to brandish a machete and run, roaring for his jugular. Okay, that was fun to write.

A few weeks back, I saw him at a local favorite watering hole, the one on the harbor. (To wit, the heartbreak of three summers ago has shown his face there. I saw him once, noted, it, and during the course of the evening, forgot about it completely - only recollecting it in the light of the next day, or a few day later. Brava.) Tennis Pro was alone, and looking, I thought, uncomfortable. I knew The Savior's arrival, was imminent (lawdy-be), and after a while, reached out, and introduced TP to some of our crowd. I made the point of being easy and light, magnanimous, entertaining, and happy to be entertained. I believe it worked. 

At some point, he did put his hand on the curve of my butt (good-sweet-jeezus-already), but I turned out of the way, out of reach, and kept up the banter (persiflage) among our little crowd.

Since then, I have a lightness in my mind, if not in anatomical parts south from my head, but not too south. It feels as though the angst has passed. I stepped up, walked into the fray, and determined to make it easy. Yes. Easy.

There is a third. And a fourth. I have formed first opinions, and they are both in the process of changing.

I feel a little like Annie in Bull Durham.

"What do you mean, you can't touch your toes? Your lower back is that tight?"

"Yeah. I try to keep loose. Yoga helps."

"Seriously, you can't touch your toes."

"It's a distant dream."

(More than that, I will not divulge. Yet.)

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[Nancy]

So, what's the latest?