Heather Anne

My grandmamma didn’t raise no hoodlum. Last week three whole people said I had good southern manners. And they were right, I do. Except for the trash talk. I say grace and I say ma’am, but I turn into a full-on punk when something (anything) competitive comes my way.

Many months ago I blogged with a plea for someone to buy my grandparents a Nintendo Wii for their 50th Anniversary. (No one did.) And in the comment section of that post, there was a bit of dialogue between my friend Melissa and me that went like this:

Melissa: Scott and I are coming to the [anniversary] party. We actually have [a Nintendo Wii] at our house with like 15 games. (I could beat your ass in bowling). Should we bring it to the party?

Heather Anne: I love it when you talk trash to me. Yes, you should bring it to the party. It'll do you good to lose at bowling in front of a lot of people.

Melissa: Oh, Really? Perhaps you need to come over BEFORE the party. Then we will see just who will be the loser.

Heather Anne: You are scared to lose in front of people? Is that what I am hearing you say?

Melissa: What you are hearing me say is that I don't want to show you up in front of your whole entire family, because, believe me, I will and you will be left crying like a little girl!

Last night my grandparents and I had dinner at Scott and Melissa’s. It was kind of the best night ever because: a) Their ten-year-old daughter makes an excellent playmate, and she gave me candy from her Halloween stash. b) Both their dogs are lovely and cuddly. c) Melissa fries her own taco shells! d) When it was time for dessert, Melissa knew I’d rather have a tall glass of milk instead of a grown-up drink. e) Nintendo Wii.

It was my first time with a Wii, and boy was I awesome at it.

And by awesome I mean that… okay, you know what, there is no way I can spin this to make myself look good. Melissa actually did kick my ass at bowling. Hard. Really hard. And so did her husband. And so did her daughter. And if they’d strapped a Wii controller to their little dachshund, he would have probably beaten me, too. And insult to injury, my little Wii avatar had on gobs of blue eye-shadow. (As if I even know how to apply eye shadow.)

Melissa said, “Tell the Internet I owned you at bowling!” or something equally mean. And her daughter was like, “Yeah, she owned you!”

Which: she did.

After dinner Melissa was all, “Don’t throw any of that food away, I’m sending it home with Heather.”

As I was sludging through the mire of my defeat out the front door of their house, I wanted to tackle Melissa off the front porch and wrestle her to the ground, on account of if I can’t win at video games, maybe I could win at a cage match.

But I did not tackle her.

Because my grandmamma also taught me that when people really love you, they send you home with a sack of food. And because Melissa loves me, I let her live to see another day.