My kids wanted to “play baseball” the other day. This involves them taking turns “batting” while I pitch a soft ball directly at the bat, frankly, so we can all cheer at the “hit” if I manage to bounce the ball off it.
This time, though, my daughter decided she wanted to pitch. So I held the bat (sitting in my chair) while she cocked her arm back to throw, eyes fixed firmly on the bat (I may have to explain the game more precisely at some point). But then she hesitated, stopped, and moved a little closer, cocked her arm again. Then stopped again and shuffled a little closer. A little closer. Eyes firmly on the bat. A little closer. Closer. Hauled back . . .
. . . and drilled me in the face with the ball.
vir bonus dicendi peritus 