After dinner last nite, we all went from downtown Los Angeles back to hometown Diamond Bar to Oak Tree Lanes for bowling. I reminded Edgar (Happy 29th, buddy) in response to his inquiry of “You bowl, right?” that the last time I bowled was 12 years ago on my 17th birthday, and in the same bowling alley parking lot, he had poured “magic dust” in my hair, which was packages of sugar which, because my birthday is in summer, melted promptly into my roots and scalp. “Well, I won’t pour magic dust in your hair today,” he promised. I should’ve poured it in his hair, but he’s too tall for me to reach. As with most people.

Well, as I expected, I bowl worse than the special olympics people we rooted on a couple of weekends ago. All the tips from the men who could actually bowl (Edgar, Tony, Mr. W) did not do much for me. At one point, a fallen pin rolled into the gutter and stayed there. I said, “Uh-oh, we have a problem there,” and Mr. W said, “It’s okay, your ball will knock that right out of the gutter.” Thanks. Altho if anyone could criticize me, I guess he could cuz apparently, he’s really good at bowling.

I challenged him to meet me on the tennis court one of these days. (Altho I’m out of practice there, too. Hmm. Maybe a typing contest, then. Don’t laugh. One of my oldest friends and a reader of this blog actually HAS side-by-side typing contests with her coworkers. During work hours.)