Margaret hates sports and feels downright put-upon, having to watch Sammy play baseball. She wishes she could find a boyfriend without kids. It’s so complicated when there are kids.

She would rather be dining out, or enjoying a movie- things that most couples like to do- instead of climbing in heels and a short skirt nearly to the top of the bleachers just to sit on a hard metal bench. Without a back rest to lean against, she hunches forward; her back begins to ache.

Looking down, she has trouble picking out Sammy. Is his number 24 or is it maybe 14?  What color is his uniform, anyway?

Margaret watches a ball being thrown then caught by a kid kneeling behind a white thing on the ground. The kneeling boy catches the ball then tosses it to the one who threw it. Margaret doesn’t comprehend any of this; what a waste of time.

She hears other bleacher-sitters cheering, groaning, and emitting shrill whistles. She can’t comprehend any of this, either. Nor, does she care to. She glances toward Sammy’s Dad, but he doesn’t notice; his eyes are glued on the game.

Margaret sighs.


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