Double Digits are Normal

Thank you for reading the previous self-indulgent graduation posts. And now, back to your regular programming.

I was asked to sub on a bowling league last night. I originally agreed because I was excited I actually could. I didn't have school and Aidan wanted to see his grandparents. Perfect! The only problem is, I am a terrible bowler. Really bad. No, worse than that. I bowl all wrong. I have my hand turned the opposite way it should be so that I am basically flicking the ball which generally sends it to cold, dark gutter land. In addition, apparently I bowl on the same side I am stepping with so I have to throw around my leg, which is also a very ineffective manner of getting the ball to the pins.

And this is a LEAGUE.

I watched a guy from the team next to me throw down six strikes before he had a frame where he only knocked down nine pins. And subsequently looked as though perhaps someone had killed his cat. On purpose.

The first round I bowled a 62. Then I felt inadequate and tried to improve. I bowled a 54 in round two.

If this wasn't enough, evidently the three guys I was bowling with forgot to brush me up on bowling league etiquette. Because after a few frames this woman stormed over to me and hissed, "You need to wait until the person on our team is done bowling before you walk on the wood." What I really wanted to reply was, "Thank you, D-Cup. You really need to wear a bra while you're bowling."

I refrained and instead smiled sweetly and, in a sugar-coated tone, said, "Oh, I had no idea! Thanks!" Immediate mean eyes were dished out to my teammates, as they probably knew I was going to get called out on this. I guess this is what I missed out on by not having brothers.

The shining moment of the night was when this old man from another team felt personally called on to help my sorry ass out. First he helped me lead with the right foot. Then he, very kindly, told me that I look a bit challenged when throwing the ball and assisted me in correcting my horrendous form.

First frame of the third round I threw his way. I threw a strike. A strike! I hadn't even had a spare up until that point! I jumped up and down like I won the lottery and he just had that proud, satisfied coach look written across his face.

"Thanks, grandpa!"

My team looks at me like I am an idiot, because it's not like he gave me permission to call him grandpa. But he totally looked like a grandpa and mine aren't alive. If they were, teaching me how to bowl would be something I'd like them to do. Besides, he definitely didn't mind. I don't think. He kept giving me pointers.

Guess what? Yeah, that's right. TRIPLE DIGITS. Just barely. But I felt better about that 101 than the guy next to me felt about his 235, I'm sure of it. I almost made the employee at the counter print it off for refrigerator material but decided against it, as I think I adequately embarrassed my team for the night.

I'm not thinking I'll be asked to sub again anytime soon. But I totally want to go bowling again. Seeing three digits next to my name was, sad to say, genuinely thrilling.