Pride comes before a bowl


After several days of me urging everyone, and because of a day so hot and humid that I was beyond the verge of collapse by 10 am, we finally went bowling this morning. I was hoping to repeat my fearsome display of monomaniacal perfection from Thursday, when I bowled four strikes and four spares in the same game, scoring a (ridiculous for me) 151.

Today, I scored thirty-something, the actual score so poor as to be obliterated from my mind.

I don’t know how, which is the most aggravating thing. Last week I walked into the bowling alley and every ball went straight and true. Today, the balls were all too heavy, or I hooked them into the gutter, or they rolled perfectly until they were two feet from the end, then veered off and missed every single skittle.

As the game went on, I didn’t warn up, I just got worse, I suppose my performance getting worse with every instance of my daughter, who cant even lift the ball one-handed, scoring strikes with the aid of a metal framed aiming contrivance. At least it was La Serpiente beating me and not my youngest. If a ten month old can beat you at bowling, you suck at bowling.

I tried to disguise my upset, but I’m not a good loser. I’m not one of those irritating people who happily accept defeat without seeming to care, as if it wasn’t important anyway. I’m the kind of person it’s great to beat, because I get in such a massive (and, one assumes, highly amusing) sulk, such that you can see the stormclouds from miles off.

Speaking of such, peals of thunder rang out as the game concluded and the rain came crashing down as we stepped outside. I do love a bit of pathetic fallacy. At least it indicates Nature is on my side.


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