Pinky's Book Link

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Pinky trains to be a Ninja


Like being granted a last minute reprieve from the Governor, I discovered that my beloved son Hagar is not plummeting from a plane this Saturday, but next. In my shock at hearing of his devastating plan the other night, I must have misheard the actual timing of the risky undertaking. It looks like I still have my cherished son for one more week and another seven days to obsessively fret about it. 

Hubby Scotto, felt it was necessary that I should perhaps go through some sort of rehearsal for the big day.

“Pinky, why don’t we go and have breakfast on the beach and watch the sky divers at the same time so you can be more prepared,” he suggested hopefully.

So we did and I now feel worse after watching the plane circle higher and higher until it was just a speck in the sky; almost invisible to the naked eye.

Breakfast was nice though. Saturday is my favourite day and Scotto and I often go somewhere for a long decadent lunch or just kick back watching videos after the morning jobs are done. 

A couple of years ago we thought we’d shake things up a bit. We’d been watching the video “Kick Ass” and for some reason became inspired by the fight scenes.

“I’d love to be able to fight off bad guys like that!” I said to Scotto taking a sip from my third chardonnay of the afternoon. “Why don’t we take up martial arts? It might be fun and it would be something we could do together to keep fit. But I don’t want to do Taekwondo with all those little kids,” I added firmly, slapping the air and kicking my legs like Jackie Chan, “I want to be a Ninja!.”

I should have known better than to suggest anything new and novel to Scotto when I’ve been drinking, because by Monday night he’d researched the possibilities and already signed us up for Ninja training on Saturday morning.

We were to meet a guy Scotto had discovered on the Internet called Greg, in a park. Greg didn’t sound like a very Ninjary name to me and it all seemed a bit dodgy but Scotto insisted that ‘Greg’ was an expert on Bujinkan dojo, a very old line of Ninja dating back to the 12th century.

We arrived at the park to discover three other people stretching their bodies under a mango tree.

“I prefer to hold my classes outdoors,” commented an athletic- looking Greg as he twisted his arm around his neck in an elastic man fashion. 

“Yeah…” I thought sceptically, “It’s cheaper than a proper venue too.”

We finished the gruelling session two hours later and apart from ant bites and sunburn we left the park devotedly raving about everything we’d learnt. This Greg really knew his stuff and what’s more he didn’t even let us pay for the first introductory lesson.

“We’ll have to practise those moves every night!” enthused Scotto. “But not when we’ve had a drink of course, we could hurt ourselves.” 

And we did practise fervently, every night.

“This is so much fun,” I effused, “Something I can see us doing for years. Maybe we’ll become Grand Masters!”

The following Saturday we rocked up once more to learn how to thrillingly hoist each other over the shoulder on to the ground.

“Bloody fantastic lesson, Greg,” I gushed when it was over. “What a shame you only run these classes once a week.”

“Oh, I do run classes on Tuesday and Thursday nights if you'd like to come.” he casually remarked.

Scotto and I beamed at each other, “Let’s do it!” we chimed.

We were going to be dead set Ninja legends.

We didn’t make the night sessions that week because we were a bit busy. In fact we were so busy we didn’t even practise our moves.

On Saturday morning I rolled over in bed. Shaking Scotto's shoulder I meekly whispered, 

“Scotto, I don’t want to be a Ninja any more. Can we go to lunch instead?”

And that was the end of that.

Are you a stayer or a quitter?