My best friend, the Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou, has threatened to make me bowl.
You heard me right. Bowling. In a bowling alley. With bowlers.
That “sport” whereby a seemingly normal person drives to a place that smells like a monkey’s ass; pays someone for the opportunity to wear clown shoes worn by hundreds of people who were no doubt the cause of the lingering monkey ass smell and then spends hours on end lifting something heavy and throwing it down a narrow lane to try and knock some stuff down.
No offense to those of you who were dropped on your head as a baby and as a result willingly take part in this activity, but what human in their right mind would engage in such a pursuit when they could just as easily stay home, boil some cabbage while wearing a stranger’s shoes and hit themselves in the head with a hammer?
First of all, the OCD Chick does not allow herself to become involved in anything that could be considered athletic by even the loosest definition of the word. I am not one of those girls who can do all the things boys do.
I do not jump… unless it is to pretend I am an astronaut enjoying weightlessness.
I do not bend at the waist… unless I have spied a shiny and potentially expensive object lying on the floor and there is no man around to fetch it for me.
I do not run…unless something large and hairy is chasing me. And even then, I slow down a little to be sure it’s not some guy who wants me to marry him, in which case I keep running, but in the direction of an altar.
Secondly, even if I were struck by lightening and miraculously lived through it, (albeit with a noticeable limp, a constant stutter, and a permanent dent in my head area), I can’t imagine I would be so desperate for companionship that I would pack a big, old ball in a tiny suitcase on a Saturday night and head over to the bowling alley where Toad Suck Guy and I would swill beers, smoke Camels and talk about what the National Enquirer uncovered regarding the link between Princess Di’s death and Karl Rove.
Note to angry readers who bowl: Toad Suck Guy is the official Wiping the Crazy off My Face stalker and as such is obliged to beat you up if you send me mean bowling email.
And finally, I do not hate bowling only because I abhor all things athletic and smelly. I also hate bowling because the last time I tried to do it, (there was male cuteness involved) I accidentally threw the ball backwards in the direction of the cashier thereby causing quite a commotion. A hubbub even.
Have you any idea how hard it is to sneak away from a full blown hubbub when dressed in red, white and blue shoes four sizes too big? They make the tip-toeing away in a stealthy manner virtually impossible.
Nope. No bowling for this girl, Evil BL. No way, no how, not gonna do it, I don’t care how great a friend you are or how many of my slightly criminal and definitely secretive secrets you know.
Unless...This doesn’t involve Fire Marshall Perfection, the most beautiful firefighter in the whole, big world, does it? Is he a bowler? Will he be at the bowling alley lifting and throwing heavy things around?
‘Cause you know, I could totally learn to pretend to love it. I’m bringing my own footwear, though. Do they make a red stiletto bowling shoe???
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