I was hopeful for about--well, a set--that Amelie Mauresmo would draw on something deep to overcome her injury, her opponent, and her lackluster season and pull out an upset over Serena Williams yesterday at Wimbledon.
But I knew it was not to be because I had another Amelie dream. Seriously. It was a very good dream overall; I can't provide all the details even. But in the end I realized that while Amelie was kissing me in Paris (I was surprised, too--I never get that lucky--even in dreams) that she should have been playing Serena. And I said this to her. But I knew by her silence that it had meant she lost.
On a related Amelie note that, once again, is all about me--I have a new nickname. I have been playing softball on this particular team for a season and a half now with no nickname, which was actually fine with me given some of the nicknames others have acquired (your name gets chosen for you). But the other night, one of my teammates was watching me bat and when I got back to the bench (I didn't beat the throw to first) she said, "Who's your favorite tennis player?" My answer was obvious. And she said, "that's your nickname." Because for the longest time she has been trying to figure out what's different about my swing and last night she finally realized (if she had asked I could have told her) that basically my batting swing is my forehand which is why I 1) don't get it as far as others but 2) am better able to place it (I am pretty good at finding the hole in right or center). So ta-da! You can now call me Amelie!