It must be love

The blazing summer day with heat peaking above 90 was enough reason that I almost backed out of my date at the US Open with my nieces. It was not an option. Melissa and Nina would be disappointed. It's not so much that Issa paid a fortune for our tickets which she didn't because she got an unbelievably cheap deal from Fandango, but that Auntie won't be there to take lots of their photos and then blog about their experience.

Nina is in town for a few days en route back home to the Philippines from Ohio. An admitted city girl shopaholic, she badly needed an antidote to her boring two-week business trip to sleepy Cincinnati where a strip mall and the company cafeteria are the best that P&G could offer. In New York, she and Issa paired up shopping all over town and outside too, barely making it to our meeting time at the gate to the Open.

Waiting didn't bother me. I was chatting away with some folks who are in the same predicament as I am. Only difference is that their tickets are in the hands of a friend who's already engrossed watching an ongoing match inside at the Louis Armstrong Stadium. Some friend, I thought, leaving these people out in the cold. I was also busy watching the mass of what could be part of New York's racket-toting preppy population as they march down the flyover from the #7 train all looking very eager to watch top-seeded Nadal and the skillful and glamorous Sharapova in today's first round draw, separately of course.


Camera on one hand bubble tea on the other, here they come. I got my ticket and we all started walking thru the gate. But hey, where's Issa? Right behind us. But what's that she's squirting all over her arms? Oh, the girl was busted. Her aerosol sunscreen can was tossed at the entrance. Better get used to this. Sweet Melissa is known for her nonconformist behavior always trying to sneak in prohibited items thru any security checkpoint and often successfully. How does she do that? Cleverly.

And I stay out of it. Words of wisdom culled out of memories of my youth I try not to offer. If they want advice they can get it from YouTube or their Facebook friends. How do I get along with my young ones? I catch myself before throwing that piece of outdated advice and try to resist saying "when I was young" or "during my time." That seems to work in bridging that pesky generation gap.

After some photo shots, they both charged into the USTA shops. I forgot my hat so I myself was forced to buy one against my will. It was pricey. You could walk in those shops with $1000 in your pocket and come out with but a few coins. Bottled water is $5.50 a pop and don't ask how much we paid for lunch. It was highway robbery.



Under the punishing midday sun we watched in Ashe Stadium the number 3 seed Novak Djokovic's victory over friend and fellow Serbian Viktor Troicki. The grueling match took 3 hours and 40 minutes. Asked how he felt to see the sun disappear, Djokovic's hot analogy was, "It was great. It was like sleeping with my girlfriend." How did I survive that heat you ask? It Must Be Love - love for my sweet nieces. They're half my age, nothing bothers them, not this heat.

The next match was Maria Sharapova against Jamila Groth. At this point I left the kids. They moved further down the stands stealing some other folks' seats and stood there for a long while transfixed at the tall, break- your- neck-when-you-talk-to-her-tall, and gorgeous Sharapova. I love that she stuck with the more sedate tennis outfit that's rarely seen on the courts these days. Hers is something like Coco Chanel could've designed, colors never clashing with the color of the court.

I would learn later that she won the match.

Well, it's time for me to let you loose, kids. It's getting late, I gotta go. I wouldn't be there to thwart your plans of going wild, so can I trust you to behave yourselves? I love you guys but I can't stay.

Bye, bye, enjoy but don't steal the sparkle from Sharapova.