Clanking Plastic and Flying Balls

Day before the fourth, I get a call from my twin telling me that her, Marshall, and JM are currently at the bowling alley. I asked how long would they be there, she said until they finished four games. Since I was driving and she happened to be across town, my annoyance at her vague answer could not be seen. Rolling my eyes, I asked her to specify in which she replied, "whenever we finish the four games." "Great, I'll swing by pick up mom and pops and be there ASAP." Conversation ended and proceeded with rapid texting. It was really crazy since half of the text were a repeat of the previous conversation except in chopped up words and bizarre smiley faces that I'm sure no human face could make. If they could, I would proceed to the nearest bar and settle down there until my mind returned to normalcy.

Anyway, we arrived and go through the routine of greet and proceeded with bowling. Oh, by the way, they were on their second game. I'm so glad that they're slow bowlers. I suppose you're probably wondering, how exactly is this blog suppose to be interesting? I don't know really. I'm kind of hoping you find my attempt to produce a story out of a mundane family outing entertaining as I flower you with pretty words and outrageous hyperbole and a few onomatopoeia. I am hoping that little spill made you laugh. If not, well...I guess you can't please everyone.

Anyway we played a round, I sucked horribly, got beaten by two men twice my age and a junior that is half my age. Talk about embarrassment of the century. Not to mention that because I was losing so horribly, that all my previous bragging rights from winning the last game were obsolete and I was even being mocked by my twin that my last win was a fluke. The nerves of that chick. Throwing two strikes in a row is not a fluke! It's an art and a highly wanted skill...

Moving along, I began to win the third round and was non-verbally smacked in the face when JM and my dad proceeded the game with a turkey. For all of you known savvy bowlers, a turkey isn't that delicious morsel you eat on Thanksgiving, but three strikes in a row. Yes, to add more salt to my wounded pride, my twin got a strike as well and few spares to tack on. I felt like a drowned cat with heavy sand bags tied to my body. In desperate attempt to save myself, I began to act cutesy and adorable. My twin killed me with two words "gutter ball." Damn her cruelty in finding pleasure in my pain. She better be glad this isn't the era where the twins were destined to die. In that I mean, I live (being that I am the eldest) and she would either get sent away, sacrificed, or magically disappear. I want you all to know I do not condone twin killing. It is archaic and definitely not a healthy hobby...glad we're clear on that.

Let me not continue to bore you. The end result of this tale is that my grammar may well be contradictory, incorrect, and that I still sort of suck in bowling. At least...I past 50 points. *sigh* maybe next time I'll spike the drinks and hope for the best...but since a minor is involved I'm sure all things in morality would rain heavy guilt upon me if I did.

Oh well, perhaps my next tale will be more productive and less...this.