I joined a softball team. Correction: I was signed up for a softball team. That’s right, I wasn’t even asked. I was just told, “Kim, you’re on the softball team.”

This might come as a shock to some of you, but I don’t play softball. My most active activities are Beirut and Buck Hunter. But someone just assumed that I must be good at softball. I mean, I’m a lesbian, so I have to be good, right?

I took this challenge as I take any other challenge. Maybe I’d be awesome at softball? Maybe it’s in my genes! I mean I’m awesome at almost everything else, right?

Wrong.

First off, who decided it would be a good idea to put me at first base? Lesbihonest, that was just a disaster waiting to happen.

Secondly, I got there and told I was lead off hitter. Luckily, after seeing my lack of skills (seriously, I don’t even own a glove), they switched me out to third at bat.

Don’t get me wrong, our team was not good. I was just one shitty softball player among several other shitty softball players. We played a double header and got killed in each game.

Now for the good part:

The second team we played were a bunch of steroid pumped gorillas and their cute (very cute) softball playing lady friends. They had the minimal amount of women and the maximum amount of muscle. Seriously.

So they are trying to not laugh at our team and we are trying to not punch one of the smaller ones in the face. I get up to bat and I hadn’t been doing terribly before. I think I was 3 for 4 in the first game. There’s a runner on first and I do my wind up. Swing, and a miss.

The next pitch comes at me and for some reason, this time, when I hit the ball, I was surprised. So surprised in fact that I forget to pick up my own feet. As I turn toward the first base line, I immediate eat shit right there at home plate. It was epicly pathetic. This must’ve surprised the professional wrestler at second base because the ball was coming right towards him and he misses it!

I look up to see my runner land safely at second base, I haul up my sizable, but beautiful ass and take off down the first base line.

Safe!

How’d that happen? It must’ve been my innovative “distraction” technique.

I look down to see blood trickling down my knee. Wonderful.

We ended up losing the game eighty bazillion to ten.

When the umpire came up to offer us 15% off our team tab for the local bar, I hopped to it. Only one team member came with me. If we’re not playing softball for the drinking aspect, then are we just playing softball? I don’t know if I approve.

(Luckily, I regained my lesbian points by being awesome at Buck Hunter later that night)