Bowling.

Perhaps if I make an effort to post up all the pictures and bits and pieces I've collected the past few weeks (ok months) tonight, I won't feel quite so guilty the next time it takes me a month to post something up. Maybe just space out your perusal of this dodgy blog. A sentence here, a paragraph there...

So, I rarely bowl. Go bowling. Watch bowling. To be honest, the first ten minutes-highlight of my day. And a brilliant activity in theory. So upon arrival you get greeted by some middle aged biddy who hates the world, and demands you tell her your shoe size immediately-and god forbid you don't know what it is. Because gone are the days when you could bowl in your socks, now as a teen who already has to deal with adolescence, now you have to know what size shoe you are-in men's sizing.

So you tell the old soul 9, and she says sorry there's only size 11's. Fabulous. I trip on flat surfaces, so by all means put me in shoes 4 sizes to big (because let's face it, a 9 is like an 11, and an 11 is like a 20) and give me a ball to throw.

What's worse is when you get to an age where you can't have bumpers anymore, and 'excuse me ma'am that light orange ball is for the kids'. Not only am I now a ma'am, but I'm wearing clown shoes, forbidden to have bumper bars, and have to do weights while engaging in a 'fun' activity.

After all this merriment you must be wondering why I persist-it's in the hope that one day, just once, I will beat my brother at bowling. After the enormous effort I have to go to just to get shoes on and 'select my bowling ball' however, I've entirely lost interest and find the only highlight of the squats (or getting up and down to bowl your ball once every 3 minutes), is the chuckle you have when someone slips, drops their ball backwards, or has a clearly fake name like Morticia up on the screen.

Yep, happy to be the source of chuckles for all the bowling haters out there.

Here's to a lifetime of Strikes, Spares, and well fitting bowling shoes.

Love Morticia. xx