Peter’d asked his girl to marry him twice, and both times she declined, explaining that she loved him but didn’t want to walk down that road again. Her first marriage ended with the cops, a restraining order and a middle-of-the-night car ride out of state.
“I figure it’s three strikes and I’m out,” he told me as we drink cans of Budweiser in his front yard.
It’s funny, boys and their baseball metaphors, even from Day 1.
Did you get to second base? No, I struck out.
Then later, when single guys recklessly try to notch the belt.
Would she say that you had a quality at-bat? No, I’d have to say I gave away an at-bat.
Great players never give away an at-bat.
“Maybe,” I told Peter. “You should work the count into your favor before you ask again. Instead of it being 0-2, you could take a couple pitches and get it even at 2-2. Then you’d probably see a hitter’s pitch.”
And a man referring to a woman as a “girl” is not an intended slight. We only do this because we continue to see ourselves as guys, not men.