The weathermates and I decided to engage in a little sport at the bowling alley this weekend.
No display of athleticism is complete without performance-enhancing booze, so we began with a trip to the Galleon Room soon after picking up footwear.
We stepped through the pink door into a paradoxal universe where cowboy hats were dress code and belt buckles a regulation three inches in diameter. The atmosphere was heavy with Stetson, domestic beer and most oppressive of all – live country music.
Monday’s Forecast: Looking down your shirt means he likes you.