baby's first yearbook

Hey, do you want to go miniature golfing Wednesday night?”

Ummm, Dave?

Dave? Are you there? Do you want to go miniature golfing?

hellz yeah

What did you say?

I said, fuck YES I want to go miniature golfing!

>And so we did. I haven’t been put-putting in something like 15 years, so it was kind of surreal being in high school again. What with all the embarrassment due to mediocre skills, it was just like I was back in 10th grade… then again, it’s (almost) always better if the ladeez win.

Not speaking of being old, I was able to resist the arcade walking through it on the way to the golf course, but I definitely wasn’t able to resist it on the way back out. We were pretty equal (with a slight advantage going to her on the basis of her having played before [that’s my excuse]) on the DDR-esque drumming game (which I totally am going back just to play again), I kicked ass on the shoot-anything-that-moves-with-a-plastic-gun game, and I’m calling it a tie on air hockey because I let her catch up.

But then, it was 80’s-flashback, time to get serious, game showdown. Pick your weapons. Her? Ms. Pac-Man. Me? Ol’ skool Galaga.

By my last estimation, by the time I was 14, I had spent $14,974.25 on Galaga in my arcade career… and my training did not disappoint. I had, however, only spent $0.75 at the most on Ms. Pac-Man and it showed. She, on the other hand, was smooth jazz on wheels, actually glancing over to talk to me while she got all the bonus fruit. Which meant she’d either spent a similar sum in her youth, or she was here every weekend.

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