Moms that say they never want their kids involved in team sports that have the potential to grow into weekends driving to Newark and Worchester for travel team tournaments have never had a 3 1/2 year old during a New England January.
It isn't a rumor that the sun sets a 3:20pm. Do the math.
So Baby Boy started Lil' Ballers Basketball last night.
I should have known it was a bad fit when I joked, "I hope no Kardashians will be here searching for future husbands." And no one reacted.
The second tip was that all the parents were decked out in gym suits and white sneakers that matched those on their children...(I guess Payless has a Family Plan?)...while I was in skinny jeans and Uggs. I never read the fine print where it stated this was a "program that allows children AND their parents to learn--or relearn!--the FUNdamentals of basketball!"
I thought I was getting 45-minutes to read and catch up on FB.
And it shouldn't be called "basketball." It should be "floor ball." Dribbling isn't a skill most people learn until they are 12. So after one failed attempt, the kids (my son) figured out he could whip some ass by kicking his ball down the court, much to the chagrin of the parents that seriously thought "lil' ballers" was code for "NBA training event."
After it was over, I asked Baby Boy if he had fun "playing hoops."
"WAIT," he burst into tears. "There was sposed to be HULA HOOPS here? Why did they make us play soccer?"
I can't wait for next week...