"Good miss."--my tennis teacher, in gym class, indicating that, while I failed to get the ball over the net, I nevertheless had good form. For some reason this cracked me up at the time.
"You're that Phoebe!"--a girl in my gym class, upon hearing me say that I planned on blogging about being congratulated on my "good miss." My hitting partners (there are three of us, yes, it's very Huis Clos) both incorrectly attributed my complete lack of hand-eye coordination to many hours spent at a keyboard. Truth is, if anything, I'm better than I once was at tennis. Other things revealed in gym class: "partner" is a poor excuse for "husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend"; Peter Sarsgaard is sexy but not for everyone; Peter Sarsgaard is not my "type" but I like him all the same; my male hitting partner, though straight, finds Liam Neeson sexier than Peter Sarsgaard; and, as neither of my hitting partners are into dudes, if Mr. Sarsgaard were to suddenly show up, he'd be all mine.
"...theory of ideas..."--one man talking to another on the first floor of Classics.
"...la philosophie de l'esprit..." a different man talking to yet another man, both in black, somewhere in the Harper-Wieboldt vicinity.
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