We made the trek, on Andrew's birthday, to the bowling alley of my youth. We rent shoes that people that bowl have worn many times before us. We trust that the aerosol can has killed the toenail fungus that we fear is lurking in the deep recesses of bowling shoes. We find multi colored bowling balls and try to look dignified--or even competent--as we slings these things down the alley. Turns out on the second game that Mom pretty much spanks all of us... We wonder... is she a closet bowler? She bowls a 155. Oh well... beginners luck. Or is it?...
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