The one thing you must understand in this story is that we DID have oodles of fun. But it did kinda seem a little unethical. I mean, if you go to the bowling alley…

Mary and I arrived 8ish, and Mary Beth was already there. I told the gal behind the counter (bowling alleys are the sort of place that have “gals” behind their counters , aren’t they?) that we were waiting for two more. She suggested we make a reservation, as she couldn’t guarantee that a lane would be available when the rest of our party arrived. But then she said something about $110, and I decided to risk it and wait. We found a table next to the lanes. We heard a disembodied voice calling out trivia questions, “What two states are rectangular? A free Kamikaze shot for whoever can name the two rectangular states!” He offered a free hour of bowling for the name of the first man in space. Where is this guy? I know this stuff! What’s he doing all the way at the other end of the joint.? “What are the five most populous states, in order?” “Which is the most-visited National Park?” Mary Beth knew that one, but she didn’t call it out loud enough or soon enough.

The emcee happened to walk by us. “What’s the name of the baby in the Popeye cartoons?” Oh, that one’s too easy. I can’t take a drink for that one. “But it’s you’re birthday, Cynthia!” So Mr. Emcee announced not only that he has a winner in the Popeye category, but that he ahd a Birthday Girl here. As he brought me my Kamikaze shot (for your “21st birthday), the eight guys in the lane number 8 sang “Happy Birthday” to me.

Neither Cindy nor Leigh had arrived yet and we were still only sitting at a table adjacent to the lanes. I went out to check to see if anyone was waiting by the door, and when I came back, ther was another Kamikaze shot on the table. I was told that guy in the blue striped shirt two lanes down sent it over because it’s my birthday (Mary Beth was concerned that he may have been trying to slip me a mickey, but I tossed it back anyway. And here I am, still alive and blogging about it.)

Cindy arrived at about 8:45. Unfortunately, the lanes were all full. The gal behind the counter handed me a sheet of paper that had a name on it, and a pen. She asked me to put my name on it and she would call me when something freed up—maybe by 9:15, she said. Cindy and I caught up while Mary and Mary Beth talked shop.

“A free drink if you can show me a picture of your dog or cat!” Again, wa-a-a-y too easy. I paused to give someone else a chance. “You must come to me with a picture of your dog or cat!” No takers? Heck—I scrolled my trusty digital camera back to my first shots taken in the wee hours of my birthday morning as I walk past the shoe rental. “The Birthday Girl wins again!” But this time, for some reason, he brings TWO shots (one for each cat, maybe?) Line ‘em up!

You may have noticed that I have not yet said anything about renting shoes or throwing gutterballs…

The eight guys in the lane adjacent to our table are done for the night but tarry long enough to pose for pictures with us. One grabs my calf as crouches down to pose in front of me. I smack him on his bald head. He apologizes and life goes on.

“After the Beatles, who is the largest-selling artist of all time?” It wasn’t David Hasselhoff, it was Garth Brooks. Bummer. I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

It’s 9:15. Mary goes up to the gal at the counter to ask about a lane. She comes back a whole five minutes later, more than a little annoyed that the gal at the counter had no list and no names, not even mine (But I’m the Birthday Girl!); but, in the meantime, the guy in the blue striped shirt two lanes down sent over another birthday Kamikaze. This time, I am able to catch his eye and thank him. (What I am not able to do is drink another Kamikaze shot.) Time for us to blow this popsicle stand.

Final score: Free Kamikazes: 5; Frames bowled: zip.