Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Chicks With Sticks

I wish I could say that I had made up the name, Chicks With Sticks, but the credit goes to my friend Susan.  She is also my friend who has the pool table in her basement, who conceived of the whole idea that a bunch of women over 40 needed to have a reason to play pool once a month, and who generously makes that happen in her home.  

The pool playing is one thing; the preliminary trash-talking in the days leading up to chick night is another.  Most of this happens by email, though there have been hollered threats across the Safeway parking lot at night, when two opposing chicks found themselves both out buying milk at 10PM.  You'd think we were all Minnesota Fats when, actually, we just about held a parade two months ago when Karen sunk a bank shot.

Still, who can't love some good, solid sports bravado? Like this email:

"Dear Anne: I hope you keep your eyeballs in your pocket, so they can see the ass-whuppin' I'm gonna give you Thursday night. Love, Deean"