Well, I finally did it. Cleaned the car out of the last remaining little bits and crumbs that my nephew left in the backseat. It's funny how it hurts to do strange things like that. As neat of a person as I enjoy being, I think cleaning up the mess meant admitting the visit was over. It's funny how a leftover juice box in the fridge or a certain smell or a travel bottle of shampoo in the shower can make your heart twinge a bit. The remnants of visitors, if left unattended for only awhile, puts my mind at ease. These things will still be waiting here because they are not gone. It always takes a few days for these irrational attachments to crumbs or inantimate objects to subside. The last sparkly horse bracelet was recovered from under the TV stand. The trip is officially over.
On a humorous note, the bowling alley in town proved to be a real gem of a find on a Friday night. Between the over aged bra-less woman in a white spaghetti strap tank and the young gentleman in the over-sized jersey with a miniature ghetto follower, I was set for the night. The older lady flew the double bird at the lane once shouting to her little grandson, "The damn nine pin. I'm tired of it. Tired of it." And boy could she get a little dance move going.
Actually, a lot of people here thought they had the gift of dance. I suppose alcohol factors in to this a bit, but boy were some booties bumpin'. The bowling alley is the new club. With great hits like "Fancy", "Don't Mess With My Man", "Lollipop", and "Air Force Ones" how could one not bring their A-game grinding skills? The room was full of free entertainment and plenty of people who should not have been providing it. The man and little gangster follower were reclined back, one in front of the other in chairs at a table, representin' with the one hand back and forth gyration.
I bowled a 108. Just thought I would throw at least one neutral statement in here.
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