Pilot-“I’m Going for the Gold!”

Okay.   Sunday begins.  A little bit behind schedule.  Apparently, my wife (who has been fasting since our super-early dinner the evening previous) had to be at some laboratories attached to our hospital with enough time to check-in, run insurance cards, get called back, drink some strange orange fluid that’s not actually orange anymore, sit and wait for an hour, get blood drawn, and then depart this pregnancy steeplechase; all before the office closed at 12h30.  It’s now 10h30.  Less than good.

Anyway, I decide we should bust our asses instead of simply go a different time-a solution that seemed illogical at the time, but now, I realize may have been easier on everyone.  Like eating 2 dozen White Castles, you don’t recognize the down side until you’re half way in.   So, we go.  No big deal.  Somehow, everyone’s smiling down on us, and we see ourselves leaving the hospital on time. 

Fast forward through the boring part, going home, feeding dogs, going maternity clothes shopping (which, p.s., go to Kmart.  While shopping we watched a little dude’s shirt drop from $5.00 to $.80 before our very eyes.  I’m not kidding–it’s dropping better than Muhsin Muhammad ) and then we arrive, yes my friend, at my bi-weekly nemesis: the Sunday Christian Bowling League. 

That’s right, my wife’s whole family are super bowlers.  I don’t know if I (and my sister-in-law….we’re both rockin’ the Michigan homeland) just never got into bowling or never knew anyone who really did or what, but it’s big in my life now.  I even have my own shoes.  And a ball.  That’s crazy. 

But, I’m horrible.  I can’t throw it straight, I can’t throw it fast, and I’m incredibly unreliable.  I’m all over the place like Mariah Carey the week before rehab.  Damn ‘ Glitter .’  But, for some reason, hanging out with my wife, her brother and sister-in-law and her parents is a fun time.  It’s great.  I almost look forward to it, except that I get horrible embarrassed by my incredible lack of ability to knock over flimsy little plastic things only about 15 yards away with a 14 pound ball.  Ouch.

It wasn’t all that bad.  And we (not super convincingly) defeated our true nemeses.  I know, you’re thinking “Christian League…Nemeses…hmmm”.  But yes, nemeses.  They’re the East Germany to our West.  The Cardinals (retch) to our Cubs.  The  Tammy Faye Baker  to our sanity.  Ahh.  Redemption.  Good always wins out (over ‘other good’?  ‘less good’?) in the end.

The highlight of the day was my wife saying something not well-planned-out.  Now, I will preface this by saying that %110 of the time, I am the one who says asinine things. Always me.  Always.  I think I’m rubbing off on her.  We are bowling, and we are starting to lose the 1st game.  We always start off ahead because we have the worst averages and therefore get super-handicap points!  Hooray!

I turn to my wife and say, “Keep up the good work, that was a nice ball!” (did I mention bowling is automatically funny just because you get to say ‘ball’ in multiple permutations?  It is.  It super-is.)  To which for some reason she says, “I’m going for the gold!”  Not necessarily funny. What heightens the comedy of the event is that she immediately turns and heads for the restroom.  Just like the early pioneers heading to California to sift crap out of a river, my wife was apparently making a Gold Rush to the Willowbrook Bowl latrine. 

Later, I pointed out how I found the whole announcement scene hilarious and she insisted that she ‘didn’t mean it like that.’  Obviously!  Who would?!  Love you babe.

Even better, though, was a later reenactment of the same event.  We were already laughing hysterically, hyena-style, about the past events.  Then she decided to re-enact it to keep the laughs a-comin.  Well they did, because shortly after she re-quoted herself, she did the turn toward the bathroom thus repeating the earlier hilarious denouement and then, consequently tripped over a chair, thereby proving that even though something was super hilarious to begin with, it actually can get better, when a haphazard, klutzy re-enactment ensues. 

More did happen to those people on that magical day, but nothing ever managed to garner quite the same amount of youthful naivete.  Nothing ever mustered up the same joie de vivre.  Ahh life.  Oh life. 

Published in: on 14 March 2006 at 2*25 am  Comments (3)  

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3 CommentsLeave a comment


    Also, yes. Going for the gold is totally our new catchphrase.

  2. I grew up in Michigan as well, but I grew up bowling. How did you miss it? Are you from the middle of the woods like your sister-in-law? Y’all were some deprived children.

  3. […] they have gotten substantially tighter. The bigger problem was at bowling this weekend (at which, like my brother-in-law, I had a hard time keeping in my squeals of glee that it was the last Bowling Sunday for a whole […]

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