So as it turns out I don't like to bowl. Not one bit.
In all fairness, this might have something to do with the fact that I'm terrible at it. And when I say terrible, I mean really, really bad.
It's often said that the Polish have a natural gift for bowling. This gift was not passed on to me. Perhaps I have a little to0 much Irish in my blood.
I scored a 67 in my first game. This is 30 points better than Obama's infamous bowling debacle. Though, it should be noted he scored 37 points over only 7 frames and at that rate he would have ended up with 53 points. So, perhaps I only scored 13 better, but unless someone gives me a hard time, let's stick with the 30.
My aunt did much better than me. She's in a weekly bowling league and has her own ball. I consented to go so as to aid in her practice. Not by choice. I'm a good niece. Well, sometimes. Until I start complaining...
And become distracting with my mad flash-photography skills.
Naomi, this shot is for you. My size 10 feet look somewhat clownish in bowling shoes (another downside to the game). But Jonathan, I did think of you in picking out my socks (this picture doesn't do them justice--they have pink toes and heels).
My second score was slightly better at 84. But I felt this screen sums up the experience better than I ever could: Stop! Game Over.
You don't have to tell me twice.
However, one should note that I am a fantastic bowler when it comes to a pick-up game of cricket. I discovered this skill while vacationing in Australia and shocked my male counterparts (don't pretend you don't remember this, Greg. Connor). Clearly, I grew up in the wrong country. So if the you ever need a bowler, you know who to call. But don't try to take me bowling. Unless there's a lot of beer involved--that my Irish genes could handle.