2002-05-05 - 10:12 p.m.

I spent tons and tons of time, all four days really, with the kids. I was up with them at 7 or 8, and wiped out and in bed by 11 most nights. But we went for strawberry milkshakes, and to the mall to let my niece pick out her own clothes, and we played volleyball in the pool and went to the playground and took walks and looked for bugs. And my niece and I went bowling. It was an absolute riot to see her, in her little capri pants and the little gold hoops I brought her from Italy, throwing the ball underhanded, through her legs. But the real reason I mention the bowling alley is because of Sonya, the lady in the next lane.

Now, I don't think it'll come as any surprise that I'm not a big bowler. I do it once in a while at a party at B0wlm0r, but you know, then you just put on some ugly shoes and drink and smoke cigarettes, and everything is already set up. But here, in this suburban bowling alley, I had to do everything. I must have driven the boy behind the counter crazy with my stupid questions,"Um, do we have to wear the SHOES? Or can we wear our sneakers? Can you tell me how to use the scoreboard? Can I get her a childs ball? Can you reset the lane? How do I put up the gutter guards?" I shit you not, I asked him all these questions, one at a time. I'm surprised he didn't duck under the counter when he saw me coming.

But before I went to him at all, I turned to the woman next to us.

I'm not sure how to describe her, but she's the quintessential bowling alley woman. White trashy, wearing grey sweatpants and an oversized grey henley shirt, with long fake French manicured nails, and a bunch of little rings with tiny chips of different colored stones. Stringy, dark rooted hair caught up in a clip at the back of her head, she was drinking beer out of a plastic cup (Sunday, 2pm), chainsmoking Newports, and making out with her not bad looking but obviously not too smart boyfriend. You all know who I'm talking about, don't try to deny it. There's one at every bowling alley in the country, I'm sure of it.She'd yell and dance around and call out to her boyfriend in a gravelly, loud rasp. My asking her how to reset the lane was apparently some bowling alley code for friendship, and she proceeded to tell me about her kids and her grandkids ("Well, my step grandkid, really, it wasn't from no marriage, just a relationship, and her own grandmother doesn't give a goddamn, she moved down to North Carolina, doesn't even call or see him or nothin") and her philosophy of bowling and life in general, and then they finished their game and she proceeded to shuffle over to say goodbye to me, wearing big fuzzy pink pig slippers. I swear. I was looking at them, transfixed, really, and she mistook the wide eyed disbelief for awe, and held up one foot, on the end of her skinny, sweatpant clad leg, and said,"I love pigs! I collect them! See?" And she nudged her boyfriend. Oh, yeah, I see. And then she came over and smiled at me, revealing not more than 6 front teeth, and HUGGED me. And you know, my mama raised me right, so I hugged her back.

I know, you don't have to say it.

FREAK MAGNET.

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