*Today was supposed to be an “It’s The Little Things” post, but unfortunately I never got around to taking the pictures. Bad blogger! I need to get my Mother-in-Law over here to spank me. I wrote a silly little story about bowling instead:
We took the kids bowling the other day. Mid-afternoon. It was a good time. We always forget how much fun we have bowling together as a family (previous bowling post here). We need to do it more often.
I suck at bowling. My daughter does not.
I suck at bowling. My son does not.
I need bumpers put up, but I refuse to get them because I keep thinking I am suddenly going to become a bowling savant by the time my next turn comes around. Nobody can say I am not optimistic.
A few nights after we went bowling I overheard my children exclaiming with excitement that some famous Youtubers got to go bowling with The President. Underground. Under. Ground. I think the underground part was just as impressive as The President part.
My son came up to me and exclaimed, “I reallllllllllyyyyy want to go bowling with The President.”
“Well, maybe you can one day. Maybe one day you could be President.”
“No. I don’t want to be The President. I just want to be The President’s son… Or husband.”
“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think your dad and I are ever going to be President.”
But who knows? Maybe my bowling skills will improve and The President will want me to bowl with him.
It is important to dream big.
Regardless, it was a really cool moment to hear a child speak in a nonchalant way about a future female President.
It was better than a strike. Not that I would know. I have never actually gotten one. But that does not mean it can’t happen.
Although if we ever did get to go, I fear we would look like this situation in the
slightly creepy scene in a life-size game at the bowling alley. You might want to enlarge it. It is worth it. You might miss the rats if you don’t… Or the bartender’s face. And yes, this is actually the decor at the bowling alley we go to. Ponder that.
You would think, perhaps, that I would be the one who put a campfire in the middle of the bar. But that would be wrong.
I’m the one scaring the bartender. You can tell by the scarf.
What is scaring the bartender?
I would love to say it was my mad bowling skills. But I think he just noticed my double jointed elbow.
It got me a free drink.
Like I said.
The person who created this scene sure did.
Don’t let that buffalo tell you any differently.
I’ve heard he doesn’t have his head on straight.