Keeping It Out of the Gutter

So Scott and I joined a bowling league, along with our friend Bryan and my sis. Tonight we hit the lanes. We call ourselves Spare Change.

I have a long and sometimes embarrassing history with this sport. And yes, it meets my criteria for sporthood. It's simple: Anything that leaves me diagnosing my aching self with the activity as prefix is a sport. For example, tonight I've got Bowling Thumb, Bowling Knee, and Bowling Backside. I can't apply that criteria to everyday activities like Saturday's leaf-raking, for example. There is no such thing as Leaf-Raking Shoulder because at my age there's only one diagnosis for such ailments: The Build-a-Better-Julie Program needs to find time for physical fitness.


Bowling appeals to me on several levels. First, it's a great social activity. Not only do we chat amongst our little team but we get chummy with our competitors, too. And in my case, I'm high-fiving folks who aren't in my usual social circles. The guys from Lou LaRiche Chevrolet who bowled against us tonight were swell fellas, to be sure. Perhaps the best part about bowling, however, is the fashion. You can't say enough for ugly shirts, uglier shoes, and the occasional terry wristband. Here I present the bowling shoes that Mr. Julie gave to me and my sis for Christmas a few years back. I feel mighty swanky strolling onto the alley in my own multi-colored suede size 7s. Tune in next week when I put my very own bowling shirt on the catwalk.

I'm proud to report that sis and I proved indispensable contributors to our team tonight. I brought in 124, 140, and 132. Not bad for a girl who not so long ago, in 10 frames, only knocked down 7 pins.