My First Step Down the Lane
The Boy and I live to bowl. Which, interestingly enough, I didn't develop a love for until I started dating him. The Boy's family, being what it was, grew up with bowling. The Twins are both very good bowlers, and as far as I know, all Three Good Sons have their own bowling equipment.
I, at best, am a mediocre bowler. And let’s just say that it's not for a lack of trying. I would love to bowl well. But I don't want to take all of the fun out of it. I have enjoyed bowling for fun.
But I must admit I’m a big wuss: you can see me at the bowling alley with the neon-pink, foam-filled bowling ball. I’m worried about ripping my arm off, with say, ten pounds. It’s really difficult for me to find a ball that I am comfortable bowling with (all the kids with the birthday, bumpers-up parties have all the balls by that point), so I have wanted a ball forever.
The Boy was pretty down with this idea. And for a long time we’ve been talking about me getting one, having the holes drilled especially for my hand, getting accessories. Really nerdy, Polish, blue-collar stuff. I love it.
The Boy (after doing the song-and-dance of "Oh, crap, I forgot it was our anniversary") brought my present out: an Ebonite ball, bag, and accessories (towel, cleaner, rosin, slip, blister goo, and finger pads).
Can I just say I was in Nerdvana? (Thanks, Fuzz, for the phrase.) The ball is a 10-pound ball (so that if I want to bowl in a league later, I can), with blue and red sparkle swirls. It looks like a galaxy, and I love it.
The Boy and I spent about an hour rolling it along the floor in all it’s spherical glory, and fondling all of my fun accessories. I threatened him that if we didn’t get the holes drilled in it tonight, I was taking it to the local bowling alley and granny bowling my whole game with it.
I’m tickled pink. I think I know how my [dad feels].
