Mammaries are Made of This

Back in Nixon’s time, when the door opened ever so slightly to the People’s Republic of China, there was a thing called “Ping Pong diplomacy.” I don’t know the whole story, the ins, the outs, the backs, the forths, but I do remember it made us all question the way we held our ping-pong paddle. Suddenly it wasn’t cool to call ping-pong ping-pong, it became “Table Tennis.” When I got to China about 10 years later, I didn’t see a single person playing ping-pong. Badminton, but no ping-pong. Still, it was an amazing historical phenomenon and if you’re interested you can read about it here, “How Ping-Pong Diplomacy Thawed the Cold War.” It’s a wonderful story.

My other ping-pong story is pretty sordid (now you want to read it?) and icky, but… In 1977, I had a professor in graduate school who was a letch. Maybe more than one, but I only learned about the one. I was (and probably remain) a pretty naive kind of female human and when he invited me and (allegedly) several others to his apartment for a ping-pong tournament, I believed him and I went. Of course, no one EVER showed up but we “waited” for them. At a certain point the professor made a grab for my mammary gland and I was out of there, nauseated and angry. BUT in the interval of waiting, we did play a game of ping-pong in the rec room of his apartment complex.

A month or so later a friend — a grad-school schoolmate — had a party in her apartment. I went early to help her set up and get a head start on intoxicants. At one point, I was telling her the story of my bizarre evening with El Groppo. We were laughing about it and playing air ping-pong. I was already Bed, Bath and Beyond to the wind so I didn’t notice that people had begun arriving. A game we had begun in an empty room finished in a room with a dozen people sitting around on the floor, watching. The coup de grรขce of the performance (as it was then, by virtue of the arrival of an audience) was me saying, “Oooooh what a cute little booby!” quoting the professor.

And there on the floor sat that very professor. To this day, I believe he deserved the public humiliation.


And, from the Waybac Machine, this is what my garden looked like on September 9, 2020



18 thoughts on “Mammaries are Made of This

  1. Hahaha!! El Groppo definitely deserved any humiliation dished out!! My parents had a ping-pong table in the garage for years – we’d play tournaments. My mother was an accomplished player and so was my father. We learned the rules and how to serve, put spin on the ball and due to my short stature I developed an awesome finesse game. At one point in college I was very low on funds and needed some cash. I went to the Co-Rec (a coed recreational facility) and ended up playing a few games of ping-pong. I lost to the guys. Then one decided to bet me – a date or $5. hehe! The $5 was very well spent and no date for losers!!

  2. He richly deserved it. I’m sure many of the females there already knew about “Professor Hands”, but to be publicly called on it is something different. I have to wonder if he were more prudent in the future..

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.