I like to try new things and this week was no exception.
Okay, I really don’t like to try new things and this week was no exception.
My grandson and daughter-in-law invited my husband and I to go bowling. Now, I’m no slouch at this game. In fact, I recently beat my brother, Mike. Did you get that, Mike? I beat my older brother MIKE (that’s his name) at bowling.
We get our shoes and hurry to the lane. My 9-year-old grandson is excited to get started and he throws his ball down the alley.
I’m up next. I pause and align my feet with the appropriate arrows. I move my ball into the optimal position and step forward. Here’s where I tried something new. Instead of just throwing the ball down the lane, I decide to try bowling my entire body. I release the ball just one second late which causes me to step over the foul line where I instantly become Wile E. Coyote peddling my feet on the highly-buffed hardwood as if I’d just run off the edge of a cliff.
Observers tell me they thought for one moment I was going to save myself, but that was not the case. SPLAT–I crash down on my tailbone and then fall back, hitting my head on the polished hardwood. As I slowly glide, spreadeagled down the lane toward the pins, I think I hear my father’s loving voice from my childhood. “Oh…honey…you know you’re not coordinated enough to play a sport.”
I make it to my hands and knees and crawl back to my seat. I shake my head in attempt to bring the scoreboard into focus. I think I see a 1 next to my name so, trying to pull some dignity out of the situation, I say, “Well, at least I didn’t throw a butter gall.” I look around at the six people staring back at me, blink my eyes until they return to the original three people and say “Ha, ha. Butter Gall? I meant to say Butter Gall. Wait, that’s not right.” I struggle to figure out what order the letters should go in.
Just as my daughter-in-law suggests an emergency room visit I come up with the right words. “Gutter Ball!” I shout. “At least I didn’t throw a gutter ball!”
Unfortunately, I can’t say that for much of rest of the game, ending with a pitiful score somewhere under 50.
The good news is – there’s nothing funnier to a nine-year-old boy than watching an adult slip and fall. Right now, my grandson thinks I’m hilarious.