"Can you believe I met him at a burlesque show? I just went to look at some titties, and I found myself a husband!"
Becka describes the advent of her sickeningly-perfect relationship with Jay. Maureen and I mainly wait for the first available moment where we can look at each other and roll our eyes. It's only sickening to us, of course, because neither myself nor Maureen has yet to be blessed with the good fortune of finding the perfect companion. We can't help but let our cynicism bubble up at a moment like this.
The night is early, though - maybe with a couple more drinks and after a couple more frames, the stagnant friendship between Maureen and I can somehow blossom into something more meaningful, something approaching the perfection of Becka and Jay's bond. Maybe this will be the night where good fortune shines upon us and turns us into lovers and subsequently spouses.
Or maybe - as has been clearly shown in the months since we've become friends - we're not meant for each other at all, but there is someone else in this bowling alley for each of us who is a chance encounter away from giving us the happiness we've been yearning for ever since the mid-30's creeped up on us. Maybe we shouldn't be spending so much our evening hanging out together. We should be walking around the bowling alley, searching for our soul mate.
Who could it be? Is Maureen's future husband the fella with the terrible B.O. in the lane next to us, who keeps coming over to give Becka bowling tips even though he claims that this is his first time bowling since 1991? Could it be the security officer who keeps admonishing her for leaving the premises to go smoke without taking off her bowling shoes? Or maybe it's the guy with the 80's haircut and American flag shirt who keeps doing a little dance after every shot, regardless of the outcome.
And what about me? Could my muse be the young lady to our left whose asscrack keeps showing with any type of movement beyond standing at perfect posture? Could it be Anna, the fith member of our party who is apparently the only one that still gives a shit about our current game? Could it also be the guy with the 80's haircut and American flag shirt?
We'll never know. The time we paid for our lane is almost up. Our seventh pitcher of beer is empty. Becka and Jay say they're ready to call it a night. Anna says the same. Maureen - at the mercy of Anna for a ride - acquiesces to the reasoning of the others. And I'm too drunk to object to anything right now.
Becka describes the advent of her sickeningly-perfect relationship with Jay. Maureen and I mainly wait for the first available moment where we can look at each other and roll our eyes. It's only sickening to us, of course, because neither myself nor Maureen has yet to be blessed with the good fortune of finding the perfect companion. We can't help but let our cynicism bubble up at a moment like this.
The night is early, though - maybe with a couple more drinks and after a couple more frames, the stagnant friendship between Maureen and I can somehow blossom into something more meaningful, something approaching the perfection of Becka and Jay's bond. Maybe this will be the night where good fortune shines upon us and turns us into lovers and subsequently spouses.
Or maybe - as has been clearly shown in the months since we've become friends - we're not meant for each other at all, but there is someone else in this bowling alley for each of us who is a chance encounter away from giving us the happiness we've been yearning for ever since the mid-30's creeped up on us. Maybe we shouldn't be spending so much our evening hanging out together. We should be walking around the bowling alley, searching for our soul mate.
Who could it be? Is Maureen's future husband the fella with the terrible B.O. in the lane next to us, who keeps coming over to give Becka bowling tips even though he claims that this is his first time bowling since 1991? Could it be the security officer who keeps admonishing her for leaving the premises to go smoke without taking off her bowling shoes? Or maybe it's the guy with the 80's haircut and American flag shirt who keeps doing a little dance after every shot, regardless of the outcome.
And what about me? Could my muse be the young lady to our left whose asscrack keeps showing with any type of movement beyond standing at perfect posture? Could it be Anna, the fith member of our party who is apparently the only one that still gives a shit about our current game? Could it also be the guy with the 80's haircut and American flag shirt?
We'll never know. The time we paid for our lane is almost up. Our seventh pitcher of beer is empty. Becka and Jay say they're ready to call it a night. Anna says the same. Maureen - at the mercy of Anna for a ride - acquiesces to the reasoning of the others. And I'm too drunk to object to anything right now.
