Call Me a Dork. I Can Take It.

Good Man and I went bowling last week. We did very poorly. But we went last night and did a lot better. Over four games, Good Man averaged 115 with a high of 135 and I averaged 104 with a high of 128. That’s ten pins higher than our normal averages.

And today? Today we really became dorks.

We bought entry-level bowling balls, bags, and shoes.

And the balls? They’re engraved with our names.

Oh yeah, baby, I own bowling shoes, and a ball with my name on it. Literally.

I have to hand it to the place in Minnesota. The manager said they’d replace the ball, and they did. So my ball was free.

I like the pro shop we went to (Sports Plus Carmen Don in Alexandria). It was recommended by the place we’ve been bowling at, and they didn’t try to upsell us anything. There was no pressure to get us into more expensive gear. We went there Saturday and they took a special order for my ball and waited for the manager in Minnesota to call with the credit card info to purchase the ball. And when they got it tonight, they called to let me know I could come in at any time to get the ball fitted.

They were really friendly and helpful. I think they think if we’re happy with the gear we get through them, we’ll come back when we want to upgrade to more serious gear.

I figure that since we’ve been going bowling weekly, it’s better to get entry-level balls now so we can used to the proper grip. If we keep using house balls with those big finger holes, we’re only going to continue to grip the ball. Or “hold it,” as my Grandfather says.

Still. We own bowling balls. I find this really funny for some reason.

Good Man also finds it funny. “Bowling is for people who can’t afford golf,” he said.

“We can’t afford golf,” I said.

“Exactly. But you wait forty years and I bet we’ll learn golf, too.”