Yesterday, I took my nine-year-old son to the tennis courts for a few rounds of tennis. Let me tell you how that went.
I served the ball to him, and he missed.
"That doesn't count, Mama. You weren't standing in the right place."
"What do you mean, I wasn't standing in the right place?" I retorted. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be."
"No, Mama. You're supposed to be in the green area."
I looked behind me. "Dude. The green area is outside of the court. I'm not supposed to be in the green area. I'm supposed to be in the blue area."
"Nope. You're wrong. A point for me."
The boy served the ball to me, and I hit it back. He missed, and it bounced out of the court.
"Negative one," Bubba announced.
"What? Negative one for you?" I asked.
"No. Negative one for you. You hit the ball while I was talking. You're not allowed to do that."
The game when on this way. By the end of it, Bubba's score was twenty, and my score was negative five hundred.
Can you believe it? What kind of match was that?