A Christmas Tradition: Bowling

As you know, bowling means a little something different to me than to others.

For years, bowling has been my euphimism for menstruation. See here for the backstory of how old-school education videos promoted that idea.

Imagine my surprise when earlier this year John Oliver showed an educational video that expanded on that notion. If you click that link it starts at 1:06, but then you’ll stay for the whole twenty minutes because it’s pretty funny.

This new video suggests that menstruation makes you better at bowling. I contest that theory. Now that the menopause has settled in, and I menstruate no more (cross my fingers and legs), I have started bowling at our department Christmas party, and I am improving.

Here is last year’s score of 30:

These are the last few frames. I have highlighted the frame in which I knocked down all the pins but they cruelly took away my ten points because my foot went over the line. My foot went over the line because I had abandoned proper bowling form in frame 2. I think I was running up to the ball and kicking it. My signature bowling move was “The Pendulum,” in which I stood near the line, faced the side wall, and swung my arm five times before releasing.

Mike B was also on my team. He somehow managed to get a score of 118 by hurling the ball at the pins in such a way it would spiral down the lane and sweep almost sideways across the pins. He started by claiming he isn’t very good at bowling, so I felt comfortable joining his team.

This year I bowled at a new alley with Mike and Bo. I am proud to say I exceeded my personal best.

My new personal best is now 43. (You may think I am taking the score of someone with a name starting with “H,” however, that’s because my handle was “Handicap,” because I was acting as a handicap to Mike B, to even the field.)

You see that I highlghted my strike in frame seven. I got that strike with a move I like to call “The Butt,” in which I position my butt to face the pins, spread my legs, and push the ball through my legs, and evidently get a strike, thank you very much.

When we noticed that this new alley displayed your speed in the upper right corner, Bo suggested we vie for the slowest speed. A few frames after my strike (bows, thank you, thank you), I bowled so slowly that the ball eventually plopped in the gutter, rolled a bit, and then just sat there.

“Walk down there and kick it,” Bo suggested.

“No! Croquet! Croquet bowl!” I shrieked. We had Mike roll his ball hard down the gutter and it knocked my ball to the end of the lane.

So. 43. Who knows how good I can get at bowling?