The Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou is sticking to her bowling guns. While I believe I have been more than clear with regard to how I feel about bowling, she insists that it’s going to be big birthday fun for me and in her own sweet Evil BL way, has basically told me to shut the hell up and deal with it.
I have tried everything I know to get out of actually walking in the door of a bowling alley, but they don’t call her The Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou for nothing. She can be quite frightening, terribly intimidating and as she stands somewhere around 9 feet tall and has big sharp horns protruding from her gigantic head, she can physically back it up.
In her job as Evil Queen Communications Officer at the Popo Department, I’ve seen her break a full grown police officer’s spirit using nothing but a stern look and a head tilt. Seriously. They whimper away from her scoldings like small, wet puppies; their penises tucked firmly between their legs. The only reason one of them hasn’t actually pistol whipped her is because they know she can’t be killed.
So if this chick is so supremely wicked, why in the world is she my best friend in the big, wide world?
Funny you should ask.
When I first met the Evil One way back in 1999, I wasn’t looking for a best friend. I was between husbands and looking for the next one... or something fun to play with until he showed up.
Besides, my track record with female best friends had been sort of unimpressive at best. Even though I myself am a card carrying boobie owner, I’ve always found it hard to get close to other club members. I much prefer the ease of boy best friends.
But there was something different about my red-headed supervisor. Our first night of training involved her taking out a large, metal whipping stick and threatening to crack my knuckles with it for no good reason. As I was already freaking out that I might possibly be the worlds worst 9-1-1 dispatcher as well as constantly fearful as to when that cop who always wanted me to “ride with him” was going to kidnap me and hold me captive in his basement/sex slave rumpus room, I felt like I might have made a poor career move.
I contemplated whether to even go back to work. Using her malevolent powers however, the Evil BL must have read my mind. Without realizing the dire consequences of doing so, I ate one of her homemade voodoo cookies and that was pretty much it. She’s been walking around in my head ever since.
If it weren’t enough that she managed to gain control of my immortal soul with chocolate chips, there is also the matter of her knowing every single solitary thing about me. Just like Satan.
She’s got the 4-1-1 on the who, what, when and where and even though she swears she’ll never tell, I know for a fact the National Enquirer is speed dial number 8 on her cell. Don’t start thinking there is some long list of wrongdoings and questionable judgement on my part though. It’s not like that.
Yes it is. It’s exactly like that.
In my defense, when someone has Machiavellian control over your person, they certainly have a degree of responsibility as to your screw ups, do they not? Perhaps a well timed, “Hey Sher, you’re about one Tequila short of full blown stupidity,” or maybe even a little whisper reminding me that unlike Brittney Spears, everyone in the room is not interested in whether or not I am wearing underwear.
Or are they?
So the long and short of it is come Saturday night, I will be sitting in a bowling alley with bowling people talking about whatever it is the bowling folk talk about. I’m guessing it’ll involve a fascinating discussion about what was on the cover of True Story magazine or where one can find big discounts on Virginia Slims.
Don’t you worry about Sher, kids. I have a plan.
Even though I will be in the bowling alley, rest assured that I will be dressed completely inappropriately for actual bowling. The shoes will be nose-bleed high, the shirt will be too low for bending in any fashion, and if that doesn’t fend off the Evil BL’s push for me to partake in this fresh birthday hell, I will also be wearing a garment that should I make any sudden bowling moves, will answer the underwear question once and for all.
This is the song that made me fall in love. The only reason I am not Sher Adkins right now is simply because we have not been face to face or else I would have used my wiley ways to trap him.
Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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