But where, oh where is my public radio station? We needed Seth and Andy this morning.
Isn�t there some sort of FCC rule that stations lose their broadcast licenses if they�re off the air for so many days or hours in a row?
Ah, well. I shall report that the Slingshots rock. We did conclude we need to stop off at a bar beforehand for a drink or two, just to loosen up. We all did much better than we�d expected, and Webster�s method of marching up to the line, stopping, then shoving the ball outward from her belly toward the pins yielded a shocking streak of strikes/spares. I managed to break 100 the second game, so it was nearly a record.
We were pleased with the bowling alley�the pizza wasn�t too terrible, either. Some helpful, stinky young fellows (not young fresh fellows in the least) aided us with that process of setting up and provided ogling services, to boot.
Not too shabby. But back at the car afterward, as I shoved JB (the ball) back in the trunk and dumped my wallet into my purse, the cell phone lit up from inside the purse. I pulled it out, saw that it was dialing the ex�s phone number, and promptly ended the call. I didn�t listen to see if he�d answered. All the way home I stewed and fretted about what would happen if he did that *69 thing and rang me back. I�d have to answer, lest it go to my voice mail and reveal my error. So then I didn�t know if I�d just hang up on him, which led to the construction of many imaginary phone conversations. I wondered if we maybe could really talk by now. If I would stand my ground and not be intimidated.
The buzz saved me�as soon as I stumbled up the stairs and into the house, I turned the phone off and forgot about it. When I turned it on this morning, the whole thing came back, and now I�m foolishly anxious.
Tell me a good story. Let�s forget all about it.