We were P90X-ing for the first half of the year, and then off on our (unspeakably fun) Road Trip 2011, so Hubby and I didn’t get around to taking tennis lessons – held, oh so conveniently, on the courts on top of our building – until recently.

As emblematic of virtually everything else in our lives that requires skill and knowledge (with the possible exception of slathering on nanotechy miracle crèmes and memorizing obscure Dutch fashion magazines), he’s in the “Advanced” class, while Momover Lady is stuck firmly in “Beginner.”

But this year, I’ve segued beyond obsessing over my cute little outfit to something…else. Now that I’ve (loosely) mastered the basics, I – gasp – might actually want to get better.

I think that’s what it takes to move the needle on tennis. Or anything else you’re learning, for that matter. You need a bit of internal fire, a competitive spirit.

Yesterday, I was hanging out with a new pal who was introduced to me by my über-bestie, Lisa. And when the talk turned to tennis, I said, “Can you believe Lisa was ranked as a teenager?”

“Please,” said New Pal cheerfully. “I mopped the floor with her.” Oh snap!

Faithful Momoverettes might recall that I consider Andre Agassi’s memoir one of the best books I’ve read in some time, right up there with my ultimate fave, House of Mirth. Sooo good; the handsome charmer hit it right out of Arthur Ashe with that one.

This long Labor Day weekend, at least in Gotham, is unfortunately shaping up to be a wee bit waterlogged. (Translation: Thunderstorms are predicted for all three days.) Thus, I expect to be glued to the telly watching the U.S. Open.

But if the matches get pulled for rain, I’m gonna spend some Q-time trying to track down my ancient copy of Learn Tennis In a Weekend. The pictures are hilarious, because the guys are clad in these teensy, McEnroe-short, togs. But it’s packed with lots of good info.

I know it’s here someplace, and I need it. I want to get better. Watch out, Lisa.