On Saturday, Gina called up and asked if we wanted to get together and do something.  Of course we did.  A night out with Gina always proves to be fun and interesting.  AND…there’s always at least a moment of immaturity.  Saturday night’s moment was one of the more stupid moments in the history of our friendship.

After bowling a bit, Gina announced she needed to use the ladies room.  She invited me to go along.  (Women rarely go to the restroom alone.  I don’t know why.)

We each went into our respective stalls and chatted over the walls.  She finished before me and continued chatting while she washed her hands.  I then thought I heard her wrong when she said, “I bet I could crawl through that hole in the door.”

“Hole in the door?  What hole?”

“There’s a hole in the door to the restroom.  You didn’t see it when we came in?”

“No…..”

“Well, I bet I could fit through it.”

By this time I was done and washing my hands.  I looked over at the door and sure enough, there was a gaping hole on the lower part of the door where there (I assume) used to be slats serving as a vent on the door.

“I think I can fit through there.”

Next thing I know, Gina is crawling through the hole in the bottom of the restroom door.  The bowling alley was not a happening place on Saturday night and not to be out done, I glanced around to make sure we were alone and crawled through right behind her.

I was half-way out when I looked up and saw our friend, Dan, exiting the men’s room and staring down at us with an astonished look.   ”What the HELL are you doing,” he asked?

In true Gina-fashion, Gina looked up at him and stated matter-of-factly, “What does it look like we’re doing?  We’re crawling through the doggy door,” as if this was the most stupid question she had ever heard in her life. 

We collapsed in a heap of laughter, and strolled back to our lanes like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  I assure you, there had not been enough alcohol consumption (yet) to blame this stupidity on the beer.  This is just how we can be when we’re together.

So, tell me.  On a scale of 1 – 10, just how immature are we?

Terri

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