My dear friend Ms V had a big birthday recently. After much, and deep thought, Double A decided bowling was the only real option. J decided that we could not possibly bowl without matching shirts. I volunteered the search. So, on a cold Sunday we planned to kidnap V, telling her children she would be returned inside of a week. As she left her house she walk tentatively to the car. We presented her with a bag. Ever the smart girl she reached in and quietly said under her breath, “I’m glad I wore socks.” She wrapped her hands around the luxurious fabric. Slipped it from the bag and beamed as the rest of us had at first glance of the magic within. These shirts are made from the most luxurious fabric, an organic plastic blend that slipped on like crude oil. They did not, but should have come with a warning not to get too close to fire as they would surely melt. We each had our name on the front. And on the back, oh, the piece de resistance…it reads Dolls With Balls. Under the dolls but above the balls is a reimagined Charlie’s Angels logo. The hot babes are all holding bowling balls in various threatening manners.
Bowling shirts on, we walked like the squad that we are. Imagined background music played as we strutted toward the doors. As we waited for a lane, from a counter I could not see over, we were repeatedly asked if we were with Kiana’s birthday party. What? No! We ARE Dolls with Balls and we came to rock.
Lane 19. All of the other doll’s first frames were expert like. I bowled fourth. “Fake it til you make it” has never been more appropriate than on this day on lane 19. I may be the world’s worst bowler. I have never broken 42 and that was with bumpers. I grabbed my ball, stuttered stepped to the line, swung and released….the most beautiful…gutter ball. Not deterred I blew on my fingertips as if they were just fired guns. Turned, grabbed my ball, stuttered stepped to the line, with a grandiose late release, managed another gutter ball. Aside from a couple of accidental strikes my game looked pretty much the same. But damn did I look good in my hot shirt. Hot because that plastic material doesn’t breathe AT ALL.