Once upon a time in a land named Williamsburg, a young woman who reads entirely too many romance novels joined a bowling league. “Why?” you ask. Because the world is her oyster.
Having been unable to convince her friends—trolls, all—to join with her, she signed up as a “free agent,” which means random assignment to a team. Great! she thought, perhaps I shall make some new friends who appreciate bowling as a sport.
The bowling league in generally seemed very single-and-ready-to-mingle, so she entered the first round with an eye to the crowd. Her randomly assigned teammates seemed nice enough via the preliminary email exchanges, so this experiment was bound to be delightful! Until confronted with the nonstop tsunami of touch that she promptly dubbed “Bonerjamz.”
Bonerjamz initially seemed a nice guy—a little handsy, but nice! Picture: our heroine putting up a hand for a high-five, only to be pulled into a hug. A little over-excited yes, but harmless. After all, it can be hard to read the room when there’s bowling to be done, so a little leeway for enthusiasm should be allowed.
Or so she thought.
Bonerjamz, though, was to be deterred by neither sideways hug, nor halfhearted chuckle, nor quick step backward. The leg-touch, the arm-grab, the elbow-to-the-ribs, the pat-on-the-head—Bonerjamz was determined to invade personal space for any reason, no matter how slight. Sadly for him, though, it was all to no avail. He failed to capture the young lady’s heart, despite his strenuous efforts. The world (or at least the bowling league), it seems, is not his oyster.
So take note, ardent suitors. If a lady desires a clinch, she won’t be dodging you at every turn. And she may even clinch you first.