Dear Guys, I'd like to talk to you about the two minutes of total embarrassments you put me through last night. You a group of fit, young men, were playing soccer on the field across from my apartment building, I, a beautiful looking young woman, was walking by with my groceries. That's when your ball came flying over the fence and landed at my feet. One of you came to me, and asked politely if I would throw the ball back to you. Fighting the urge to flee screaming down the street, I agreed. And I put my bags down, picked up the ball and with eyes half shut, threw it as hard as I could. It hit the middle of the fence and bounced right back to me. I picked up the ball again and threw the ball upward with all my strength. The ball once again hit slightly higher up on the fence and bounced back to me. This is the point where I start to blame you. Wouldn't it have been a better use of your time, and mine, if you had just walked around the fence and collected the ball then? I was clearly struggling. And yet you all just stood there, staring. Seeing that you weren't  going to get the ball yourselves, I become desperate. But I picked up the soccer ball for the third time. I forced a smile while crying inside as you patiently shouted words of support over the fence at me like I was a two-year-old holding a beech ball for the first time. "Throw it granny-style!" one of you said. "Just back up a little end throw it hard!" another offered And, most embarrassing of all, "You can do it!" I know you thought you were being encouraging, but it only served to deepen the embarrassment. However, I accepted your advice, took a deep breath, and let it fly. It hid the edge of the -fence and bounced back to me. I hoped that I would have a heart attack and pass out, just so I'd be put out of my misery. Alas, the heart attack didn't happen. Finally, I had to pick up the ball, walked close to the fence, and said angrily, "Please just come top get it." And you did. And thanks to you, I decided at that moment I would never throw anything over again, except scornful glances at people who play sports. Sincerely yours, Jen Cordery What made the author feel embarrassed?
The boys' unconcern The boys' rudeness The boys' impoliteness The boys' impatience