Bowling, karaoke combine for perfect birthday
A very close friend of mine -- who shall remain nameless because of her behavior on the occasion herein -- had a birthday, her 53rd, last weekend, and to celebrate she wanted all of her friends to go bowling with her. Now, I have nothing against bowling per se (don't you love how four years of high school Latin really comes in handy sometimes?). Bowling is inexpensive, you can wear pretty much anything in your closet, there's fun, fattening, fried food and it's air-conditioned -- what's not to like?
It's just that I had figured my bowling days were behind me. But, as long as we could go to a place that served alcohol, hey, why not? Once you turn 40, alcohol is a prerequisite for any activity that involves lifting and hurling heavy objects, such as a bowling ball, a large rock, or, say, a dining room chair ... don't ask. Alcohol dulls the sound of your body saying: "What in hell do you think you're doing?! Put that thing down immediately, or you will not be lifting anything heavier than a Darvocet for a month!"
However, just going bowling by itself didn't seem like enough. I mean, the accomplishment of living to the age of 53 -- and simultaneously teaching for 28 of those years without croaking -- simply requires a bit more hoopla. So, I called the whole gang, and suggested that we surprise our friend and chip in to hire a limousine. They thought it was a great idea. When that long, sleek black Caddy drove up to the house, our friend's jaw absolutely dropped. Remember, she's a teacher. Teachers don't ride in limousines. Teachers ride mostly in 1988 Honda Civics. I think it's a law or something.
"Wow," she said. (She really has to learn to keep those emotions in check.)
In the back of that limousine, we found champagne and strawberries cooling in a silver ice bucket, two telephones, a flat-screen TV and an amazing sound system that was playing all our favorites ... well, all my favorites, but hey, I was the one who thought up the whole thing, wasn't I? Honestly, if it had just had a teeny-tiny bathroom, I could have lived in that limo the rest of my life.
On the way to the bowling alley, we watched as other drivers and pedestrians peered at the darkened glass, trying to see what famous person might be in there. Kim Kardashian? Lady Gaga? The kids from "Glee"? We loved it. Once, when we stopped at a light, I lowered the window and yelled at a group of young guys staring curiously from the sidewalk: "Hey, boys! Ever hear of the Spice Girls?" And, then we roared away, leaving them with these stunned looks on their faces, all of them obviously thinking, "Whoa, the Spice Girls are really, really old."
We had a great time bowling, though. I scored the lowest, of course, but I blame that on the fact that I've given birth, and none of the others have. (I don't care if it was 29 years ago, I'm still recovering, and that can definitely hold one back!) It also happened to be Karaoke Night at this particular bowling alley, and after a couple of adult beverages, we all remembered what fabulous singers we were and how the world had lost us to other professions, so we took turns at the mic between frames. It's amazing how the words to "B-B-B-Benny and The Jets" and "You Light Up My Life" came back so easily that night. At one point, we were singing "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off," one of my favorite songs by Joe Nichols, at the exact moment that we spotted several of our high school students on a nearby lane, staring aghast and agog at teachers who had clearly spent their summers driving right off the old sanity cliff.
(Even our limousine driver, Tony, who really liked us and whom we invited to bowl with us, eat with us and sing with us, looked like he kind of would rather have hung out with the shocked and appalled teenagers.)
On the way home, the birthday girl stood with the top half of her sticking up through the moon roof, loudly proclaiming her age all the way down the main streets of Chapel Hill, N.C., and through the campus, daring someone to make something out of it. Fortunately, the college students are still on summer break, or there could have been an ugly incident.
The whole night was Camelot for your sadly underappreciated teachers. As a matter of fact, I'd feel so much more appreciated if I could ride to school in a limousine each day. Something like that might even make me reconsider early retirement ... just kidding!
Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.
