"If You Can Dodge A Wrench, You Can Dodge A Ball."

My Thursday night fantasy: kids in bed by 7:30, Daveskins and I, couched, in our coordinating flannel sweats, a new Office, ringer on the phone turned off, and then, who knows? It is hard to control myself when we throw on the flannel get-ups.

I took the necessary precautions earlier in the day, to make sure our evening would be fool proof. Double checked the DVR, shaved my legs, OD'd the flannel on fabric softener, and restricted fluids for myself and the Hoodlums, to avoid any extra bathroom trips.

When the invite to play co-ed dodge ball, at the church came our way, I should have done a reality check on myself, noting my thinly veiled anger issues, the size of the town we live in, and the fact that it was held in the church. I could have then politely declined, and stuck to our original plan.

But I did not.

We showed up to the church, and found that the ward we would be playing, was all-male, and all in their early 20's. Great. Our team was a hodge podge of middle agers to older agers, and my friends, Shanna, and Mindi. The rules were explained, a prayer was said, and the mayhem began. I have played dodge ball before, but was probably heavily medicated at the time, or was just young and out to have fun, because I certainly don't remember the feelings of utter rage brewing in my belly when someone took aim at me.

I had a great time trying to hit other people with the balls, but got really indignant when I felt a ball fly by me, clearly with the intent of getting me out. About halfway through the fun, time seemed to stand still, as my face took the full brunt of a close range head shot. I felt my neck twist around my body in true Exorcist fashion, and when the lights came back on, I swear I was looking down at my own ass. When my head finally snapped back to the correct anatomical position, despite being in the church, I let loose with a thunderous assault on the thrower's, Mother's, morals.

Through the haze of profanity, I caught out of the corner of my eye, a flash of Daveskins, hurling his body over the enemy boundaries with arms cocked and loaded with balls, ready for a rapid fire assault on the S.O.B that hit me. Like Braveheart's last declaration of "Freeeedoooom!" I heard Dave yell, "Thaaaat's My WIIIFE!" And then he went down in a blaze of glory as 10 enemy dodge ballers pelted him mercilessly. I've never felt more protected in my life.

The anger never really subsided, and I tried to channel it into physical strength, but my swearing just got worse. Right around the time I started to threaten Mr. I-Hit-Ladies-In-The-Face-Cause-I'm-SO-Strong-And-Lame,(yes, I am refering to myself as a Lady.) and telling him I was going to run over his face in the parking lot, the game was over. We beat those suckers in the final best out of three, and better than the thrill of winning, I left with my dignity intact, and a full knowledge of Dave's love.

Next time, we will probably just choose the couch.