We didn’t know what her name was. So we just called her “Sea Foam the Greek.” It was easier than looking up the Greek word for “bitch.”
She was a petite woman, pretty in that hard, Eastern European way. The kind of woman who didn’t smile for fear of showing weakness. Or maybe just because nothing made her happy. Based on our experiences, I’m voting for the latter.
See, four friends of the amazing Fink went to tennis camp in Florida this past weekend. We were celebrating his birthday by chasing and hitting fuzzy green balls for five hours a day. Sounds like fun, eh? Well, IT WAS!
Seafoam had flown in from the set of The Real Housewives of Athens with her delish husband for a few days of . . . I’m not exactly sure what. She was ostensibly there to work on her tennis game. But it became very apparent, very quickly, that couldn’t POSSIBLY be the reason she’d flown all the way to Florida. First she asked to be moved out of the Russian native's class because “She couldn’t understand his English.” That put her on the court next to ours, where we got to spend half a day witnessing her Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter Etc brand bitchery first hand.
“Is it okay if I just sit out this volley drill? This isn’t my game. I don’t play the net,” she said condescendingly.
Hunh?!?! Lady, you’re no Elena Dementieva. Hell, you’re not even an Eleni Daniilidou. You’re a country club hack AT BEST. You don’t have a “game.” Shut the hell up and hit the ball.
That’s what I would have said.
But her instructor was perfectly happy to let her plop her bony ass on the sidelines. We were all atwitter at her behavior, but she was just getting started. The drills confused her. The Jamaican instructor’s English (that lovely island sing-song patois) was “too fast” even though Missy spoke pretty much accent-free herself. She would walk off the court without warning. She pouted. She fumed. She was constantly spreading her arms wide in a gesture that immediately calls to mind a cornpone dickhead saying “you want a piece of me?” or Diana Ross in concert.
We spent the entire afternoon and evening talking about Sea Foam. And what her adorable husband could possibly see in her. We even started a pool to guess what color she’d be wearing on day two. “Coral,” my Beloved said emphatically. “Definitely coral.”
Day Two came and we dragged our weary asses to the tennis courts. As we’re going through our warm-up jog, we spot her. “CORAL!!” Shouted my Beloved. The five of us burst out laughing. For there she was, in full coral ensemble.
Apparently, in the gated communities on the outskirts of Athens, 90’s pastels are making a HUGE comeback.