Today, I did something I haven’t done in at least 15 years — I went bowling. I know it may be hard to believe that it’s been such a long time, what with my youthful, fresh faced good looks and all, but don’t be fooled; I shall be turning another year older in less than a month, and I will now be able to say I’ve bowled with the help of computerized scorekeeping, as opposed to my prior bowling experience where we kept score with rocks and chisels. Anyway.
My team went bowling as an exercise in futility teambuilding, and teambuilding it was, as in “I’ll beat your azz with my mad strike skills” or “If you don’t send me that deck1 post haste, I’m going to whack you upside your head with this giant ball”. Speaking of bowling euphemisms, I may or may not have committed a serious freudian slip when I uttered ”man, I reeeally don’t want to touch these dirty balls2“. But that’s neither here nor there.
There are 17 people on my team, but only three of the female persuasion, so, of course, we had some serious girl power to spread and representin’ to accomplish. I’m happy to report that I, along with my fierce female colleagues, scored some serious pointage and bowled surprisingly well. We even beat most of the boys (natch). Think perfectly straight lines down the lanes and and breaking 100. In fact, it would probably be fair to say that my bowling skills brought all the boys to the yard.
As an aside, I do not recall bowling being quite so strenous. I’d guess that’s because I was just a wee tyke the last time I partook in the activity, but I nearly threw my back out today. Sadly, I was one of the youngest people in the joint3, too. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cuddle my soaker tub along with about twenty-two gallons4 of epsom salts.
1 I’ve been using the word “deck” since the wayback machine that was my first job out of university. It means “powerpoint presentation”, as in “decks of cards”, or “decks of paper”, as it were.
2 I said it due to the pig flu going around. I did, dammit!
3 True story. There was a group of seniors next to us bowling the everliving daylights out of the ball and I’m not joking when I tell you that they were at least 70. God bless ‘em.
4 Or, for my Canadian friends, about 82.5 litres of epsom salt goodness.