Dear C,
I believe I know the tennis-playing doyenne of whom you speak? Looks like Anna Kournikove from behind, all bronzed limbs and bouncing blond curls, but with a face like George Burns when you get close up? To be fair, I have not verified this last fact for myself, but we’ll stick to this story for the oldballandchain’s sake.
If she is the woman I am thinking of, then I believe she likes to tout her ball-playing skills on the local courts as a pro – and I use the term advisedly – as I see her there all the time tossing balls into the air before smacking them, more often than not, resoundingly into the net. Needless to say, this demonstrable lack of any skill has impeded her business not one iota, judging by the steady stream of boys to men lining up to pay hundreds of dollars an hour to put her to work on their own feeble shots. Can’t say I’ve noticed any improvement among her students, as a result, but you should see the chaos one glimpse of her meaty thighs wreaks among the ongoing games on other courts.
My point is, dear C, that you can never judge a book by its cover. A woman who appears to be a member of the idle classes – much like our good selves, some would say – may in reality turn out to be an honest working girl whose need for a nanny is a necessity, not an indulgence – not to mention one of those blondes who look good only so long as you never attempt an approaching shot.
Faithfully,
P.
