NOTE: Ma’am = Madame = Mistress
If you don’t get it, feel free to just not get it.
‘Kayso, there I was, in the middle of the bowling alley (Bowling Alley!), surrounded by Semi-Pro Pin King Wannabes and Trailer Park Rejects, when out of the blue, just as we’re getting ready to go, the Mister makes me soak my panties.
And it had nothing to do with the big, heavy, shiny balls. 😀
I shall endeavor to explain. But first…
Didja click it? Didja? Oh, c’mon! Click it! It’ll give you some idea of my state of mind. (And if you listen to the words, you might have a *slight* clue as to why this is currently my theme song.) And feel free to, ya know, just groove.
Damn, but Nancy can play the guitar. Do you have any idea how tough that intro is?
There’s nothin’ left to do tonight, but go crazy on you… Ann’s got some pipes on her, doesn’t she?
Now. Where were we?
‘Kayso, I’m fairly certain the Mister was replaced by an alien replica about midway through December, because not only did he successfully plan and execute our ‘Holy Sex Machine, Batman!’ night out at the…erm…’club’, but he also planned (all by himself!) a night out with our friends. Hence, the bowling alley. Hence, the ’70s music. (I serenaded the Mister with my awesome rocker chick vocal stylings before we left the house that night.) I’ll spare you the Kansas and the Manfred Mann, but Heart is a MUST. ‘Kay? Kay.
So my (replaced-by-an-alien) spouse decided on the details of this outing (a rarity, indeed; generally speaking, if I wait for him to decide on, say, Valentine’s dinner, for instance, I’ll be lucky if I’m eating any time before August…), which is why we ended up on the side of the alley that was playing some sort of Bingo bowling doo-ma-jiggy (I won $3.50!) called Moonlight Bowling, instead of being on the side of the alley that was playing regular $1.50 games. But that’s okay! I’m all about adventure! Besides, it’s bowling! And it’s Bingo-y! And who is this man and what has he done with my husband…?
‘Kayso, this bingo bowling thing meant that, rather than being surrounded by average folks (read: semi-sober people whose scores run around 100 points a game) who suck (no, not like that), we were surrounded by slightly crazy What ya gonna do when everybody’s insane? gambling addicts who spazzed when they didn’t get a strike, and who were somewhat astounded by my penchant for doing happy dances and squealing with delight whenever I’d knock a few pins over. Or maybe they were just dazzled by my dimples and/or blinded by my awesome hot pink sweatshirt… Or maybe I had a piece of french fry stuck in my teeth? Hard to tell for sure. Shrug.
‘Kaywell, let’s set the scene (yes, yes, I know some of you are into BDSM, but that’s *not* the kind of scene I mean…yet), shall we?
There are pins crashing and buzzers going off and kids crying (there should be a law disallowing children in bowling alleys on Saturday nights), and a general cacophonous rumpus. But there’s no music playing. Except for, you know, the soundtrack in my head. Which quickly became the soundtrack in my lane, because one simply cannot bowl without ’70s rock. And for the record: (1) Yes, I am an amazing singer, and (2) No, I’m not afraid to sing in the middle of a bowling alley.
So that’s the scene. Now for the characters…
The guy one lane to the left is bowling in his pajamas (um, seriously…flannel jammies) and is missing half his teeth (I wish that was an exaggeration, but it’s not); the guy one lane to the right is wearing a permanent scowl (what, did your mother never smile at you when you were a baby?), even though his eyes are glued to my ass (Scowling! At my ass! Hmph!) while I’m rump-shakin’ and shimmy-boppin’ my way through each frame. I’m fairly impervious (ha! perv!) ~ as usual ~ to others’ opinions and reactions, so I go on with my Dancing Queen (yes, I sang me some ABBA when it was my turn to bowl) routine, accidentally winning money along the way (Oooooh, I got a STRIKE! And the front pin was RED! Twenty-five cents for ME!) and having an absolute blast with my hubby and our friends, despite the fact that I’m surrounded by a scraggly parolees and aging beer-swillers.
‘Kay: Scene, check. Characters, check. Plot? Erm… There wasn’t one really. So let’s just skip to the denaument, mmm-kay?
Three hours, three games, and a lot of laughs later, we’ve spent $41.50 (but I won $3.50 back!), my right thumb is starting to blister, I’m all danced out, and we’re getting ready to go. I hand my rented shoes to my husband, and have just instructed him (Woops! Must’ve used my Domme voice by mistake!) to return my retro footwear to the front desk, when he looks me up and down (yes, like that)…
Gets a gleam in his eye…
Lowers his gaze subserviently…
And, in a sexy growl, responds…
And you kept me alive with your sweet, sweet love…
And right there, in the middle of a broken-down bowling alley, on a December Saturday night, surrounded by Semi-Pro Pin King wannabes, pajama-clad Toothless Wonders, stern-faced giant ass-scowlers, and all manner of scraggly, beer-swilling Trailer Park Rejects…
Let me go crazy, crazy on you…
The Mister made me soak my panties.
And bowling is now my *second* favorite Saturday night activity.
*Legalese: Crazy On You lyrics written by Roger Fisher and Ann & Nancy Wilson.