Bowling Dreams & Cheap Wine

Chapter 6

Sunday evening the only pair of clean jeans I have are ill-fitting mom jeans. People make fun of this term, until they realize at least one of their jeans has naturally morphed over time to become just this. 

This cautionary tale of denim begins when you find the perfect pair and the butt is lifted and those cheeks are elevated. Then, slowly, one wash at a time, the fabric stretches and grows. Nobody knows how this happens, but suddenly, the waistline goes higher and the length becomes shorter. Sometimes we see ankles and camel toes and long pockets. They're the abhorred vocab word--They're practical, which suggests a certain lack of glamour. And according to Bitches Who Know Things podcast, women are craving to be glamorous at their core. Not necessarily in outward appearance, but the kind of thing that makes their inner glamour shine.

Apparently, wearing mom jeans 👖 doesn't help achieve this inner glamour.

My evening attire is accomplishing the frumpy I'm-having-an-off-day look of my formerly cute jeans and my favorite go-to pink sweater.

I glance at Nate's door on the way out. A smile curves up my mouth as I realize I always like seeing him. His lights are off. But he has my phone number. 

I am off to the bowling alley.

The line at Downtown Bowl to get shoes is long by the time I walk through the door. Dianna and Steph are already here. Steph's pouring waters into everyone's cups at our table. Lisa and Tamara walk in together.

"Hi," I say as they get in line next to me.

"I've been waiting all day for this," Lisa says like she needs to de-stress now. "Yesterday was my anniversary and do you know what Julian got for me?"

"Tell her," Tamara says, bumping her elbow.

Lisa takes a dramatic breath. "A recliner."

"That doesn't sound too awful." Add a blanket and peppermint tea and I'm in weeknight heaven.

Lisa's eyes get big. "Not just any recliner. One of those vibrating ones. The kind with those rough massages. Now there's a chair in my family room that looks like it belongs in a spa." She rubs the top of her neck as if the uncomfortable crime of using it has already been committed.

Paul motions us forward. "Come on ladies, there's a line. What's your size?"

"Flowers, is that too much for you guys?" Lisa blurts to Paul, whom, I give credit to. If anyone deserves a beer and a pair of ear plugs is Paul.

"I would buy you flowers," Paul says, looking straight at Tamara.

Lisa pokes her head in his line of vision. She can't see past the image of a nail salon taking over her home. "You know what? I'm just going to tell him that next year I want to go somewhere. I want to be surprised with a trip to Maui like Tori's husband did."

"You mean the same Tori who posted minute-by-minute pictures of their dream anniversary and then announced their divorce six months later?" Tamara points out.

"At least I would have gotten a trip to Maui before calling it quits." Lisa grabs her shoes in a huff and takes off towards Lane 10.

Paul reaches over to a jar and takes out a blue coupon. "Here. She can have an extra mini bottle on me."

Tonight, is our last night to practice without having our scores count. Next Sunday, the scores are counted. The way the tournament works is by cumulative points. Every team has the same number of women so each week our winnings are added to the next week. The tournament has always been about bragging rights. Since I'm a mom, I know how to do that.