On Sunday, my family got together to celebrate my father's birthday via bowling. It was fun; I'll admit it. Plus, I think I injured myself more seriously by falling asleep on the sofa last night (seriously. People walk into my office, I turn my head to see them and...ow! I've had this stupid crick in my neck for about three weeks though. I kind of don't remember what it's like to not walk around compulsively [albeit fruitlessly] kneading my own shoulder, It's terribly elegant.) than I did by hurling a heavy object about. What? I'm spindly and I have a bad back. Bowling is anxiety producing. Yes. I know you're cooler than I am.
Yesterday I got an email from my mom that said, among other things, "You can go bowling with anyone. You were great."
My mother is totally biased. To the point of delusion, apparently. I wish you could have actually witnessed my "form" so you could be getting a nice hearty chuckle right now. But isn't it nice to have someone love you so much that they instill you with imaginary bowling prowess? It is.
On the other hand, in case I actually become a good bowler, I hear there'll be a venue in my very own neighborhood to showcase my mad skillz. I'll probably become some sort of local legend. Stay tuned.
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