Or, What Happens When You Let Your Wii Bowling Pro Status Go To Your Head
Or, Not To Be Overly DRAMATIC, Or Anything
Scene, Bowling Alley, Saturday Night
Amy: Ew. Bowling shoes? Hasn't technology rendered community shoes obsolete yet?
Jason: Wait, did you forget to wear socks?
Amy: *pause*
Amy: Yes.
Jason. EW.
Amy: Also, none of these balls have sparkly stars on them.
Jason: And?
Amy: So how will anybody know how awesome I am? That I am their better? They should put my face on a blimp, at least.
Game One
Amy: *bowls*
Ball: *gutters*
Amy: *bowls*
Ball: *gutters*
Amy: *makes lighthearted jokes at her expense, trying to mask how DEEPLY and GENUINELY rattled she is, OH MY GOD, she cannot LOSE AT THINGS, gaaaaaaah*
Ball: *gutters*
FINAL SCORE: 34
Game Two
Two couples arrive, including one guy who is already slurring his words at the top of his lungs, and are assigned to the lane next to us. The one we share tables and a score machine with. I am immediately thrown even further of my game by the presence of other actual human beings who are not part of my Mii gallery and shockingly, do not exist solely to cheer when I bowl a strike. Am so unnerved I send the ball backwards into the seating area on my next frame.
Drunk Asshole: WHOO HOOO WAY TO GOOOOO.
Jason: Hold the B button down longer next time!
Drunk Asshole: (to the waitress) Your goal tonight is to get our wives druuuuunk. The druuuunker they get, the hiiiiiiiigher your tip, okay, Peaches? (continues in graphic detail to describe WHY, exactly, he needs his wife to get druuuuuuuunk)
Amy: *bowls*
Ball: *gutters*
Amy: That one was because of FEMINISM, by the way. Not because I suck at this.
Jason: *not bowling particularly well, but at LEAST manages to knock pins down most frames*
Drunk Asshole: *is obsessed with returning unused balls in our lane to the racks, keeps trying to take our balls away, has also started referring to us by our first names, thus illustrating the reason why you always go with initials-only for the scoring screen in real-life bowling*
Amy: *bowls*
Ball: *gutters*
Drunk Asshole: Niiiice. Try aiming for the pins next time.
Amy: Really? You're going to heckle me? Because...no.
Drunk Asshole: *opens mouth, wisely closes it, appears to sense he has been outmatched in assholery*
Jason: Holy shit, what did you say to him? You actually said something to him? We've been together over 12 years and I've never seen you confront so much as a laundry hamper.
Amy: I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate this game. I hate everything going on right now and WHY AM I SO BAD AT THIS? PEOPLE CAN SEE HOW BAD I AM AT THIS AND IT'S FREAKING ME OUT, MAN.
Amy: *bowls*
Ball: *strike!*
Amy: *OMG POINTS! POINTS! LOOK*
Drunk Asshole: *too busy rearranging the tables to notice*
Amy: *storms back to seat, pulls HER table with HER mozzarella sticks back towards HER side of the lane because it is HERS and NOT HIS and PERSONAL SPACE and ALL THAT*
Drunk Asshole: *bowls a turkey, like an ASSHOLE*
FINAL SCORE: 19
Amy: Fuck this, let's go home.
Amy & Jason: *go home, to find both children still awake and ornery and needy, thus defeating the WHOLE POINT of getting a babysitter, but whatever, our rockstar lifestyle is what it is, yo*
Jason: Maybe next weekend we'll go play some ping-pong.
Epilogue
Amy: *gets on the Wii and bowls a 217*
Drunk Asshole & Co.: *are probably still trying to figure out what was up with that raging bitch at the bowling alley last weekend, Jesus H. Christ, her husband should try getting her druuuuuuunk next time or something*
