A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind words and cookies and love
during my little adventure that took the last 5 chapters to tell you about.
It was about 4 months of life at our house there. We only have a very
little time left together, so I hope to post much more frequently than you
have been seeing us lately. Look for something about every 2 weeks or so,
ok? Don't want you to miss your "lub ledderz"!
The disclaimer thing once again: I don't own him, he owns himself. I just pay his room and board and feed him every time he's hungry. As you can see, there is no profit in that. Well, at least not any monetary profit. I wouldn't trade him for the world.
Once again thanks to PuterPatty and leail for the beta job. It's nice to know I'm not the only one policing my commas. You guys rock my world!
Now, for a little something much more delightful than the past bit has been, at least from MY point of view . . . .
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Chapter 14 What's Your Score, Prance Legolas?
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, the NASCAR race was on last night instead of today, and there's not a single other interesting thing to do happening in the whole county.
Well, THAT'S never stopped us before.
"Let's go bowling," suggests Yes Dear.
"Yeah! Let's go bowling!" chirps Lil' Pip.
"Whut'z boewleeng?" inquires the Prance.
"You'll love it," I say, grabbing my bookbag with my wallet in it. "Come on."
The rain is coming down so hard on the drive up the Interstate that you can't see more than about three car lengths ahead of the nose of the car. For a minute Yes Dear considers pulling off to the side of the road until the shower passes, but that's too much like asking for directions, so he crawls along at 40 mph instead.
"Woew!" exclaims Legolas. "If we haed buebblz, dis wuld bea bedder dan da kaer waesh!"
Luckily the downpour ends about the time we arrive at the bowling center. Yes Dear grabs his bowling ball bag from the trunk, and we all follow him into the darkened building, much like a bunch of baby duckling's following their mother.
The place is packed. There are at least four birthday parties going on, not to mention some kind of tournament with a prize package of over $2,500 in cash and incentives. It's a forty lane bowling center, so there are still a few places where three humans and an elf can squeeze in.
We line up at the main counter, waiting for our lane assignment. Yes Dear decides to pre-pay for only a couple of games each, not knowing how we'll all hold up since it's been awhile since we've been here.
"What size shoes?" asks the man behind the counter.
Yes Dear gets a pair of 10's for himself, a pair of 8's for me, and a pair of 9 1/2's for Lil' 'Hobbitfoot' Pip. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, "What size for Legolas?"
"He wears a 12 narrow," I answer, watching the elf as he takes all of this in, standing quietly there beside me. He stares, wide-eyed and unblinking, down the fifteen lanes or so that extend off to our right hand side.
Yes Dear hands each of us our shoes and we make our way down the far side of the alley to Lane #13. We're squeezed in between a husband/wife team competing in the tourney and a young mom and dad with four of the cutest little girls on the planet, all under the age of six.
Sitting down on our little bench row of seats, we change our shoes first before going to select a house ball. All of us, that is, except Legolas.
"What's the matter?" I ask, noting the discouraged look he wears.
"I wuz wundureeng if I culd hav sum shoez like heez," he says, pointing to the wild neon monstrosities that Yes Dear wears. Orange on the big toe side and yellow on the other, with lime green heels and toes and hot pink shoelaces, they're honestly enough to make a grown woman sick to her stomach.
"What's wrong with yours?" I ask, indicating with a nod of my head the nice maroon and navy pair he holds in his lap.
"Dere noet az perty az da wonz he haz," pouts the Prance.
Well, we can't just switch them, for Legolas' long delicate feet are a good two sizes bigger than Yes Dear's. I walk back with him to see if the alley desk has another brighter, more colorful pair.
"We'd like to exchange these for a pair of those neon ones," I tell the desk clerk. He cocks me an eyebrow, not quite as effective as what I've become accustomed to but still readable. I know, I think it sounds loony too.
"I don't have any more neon's available in a Men's 12," he says.
The Prance's shoulders slump, his noble head hangs low. He's pathetic, really. We wander back to our lane where he dejectedly pulls off his blue- fading-to-black Nike Air Max Trance Running shoes and begins lacing on the subtle maroon and blue bowling ones.
"Whut duz dis nuembr meen oen da heal hear?" he asks, holding his left bowling shoe up and inspecting it more closely as he stalls.
"That's your shoe size. It makes it easier for the people who work here to put them away and to make sure you get the size you asked for," I tell him.
I watch as his bright elven eyes peruse the heels of everyone on the left side of the bowling alley. Soon he nods, seemingly more content, and finishes tying the bow on his left shoe.
Time to select a bowling ball. I start at the rack nearest our own lane and work my way to the left, looking for a nice ten-pounder that my fingers will fit. Legolas tails along behind me, watching as one at a time I roll each ball on the rack until the holes are visible, then line it up so the double holes are on top and the single thumb hole is below, and stick my fingers in.
"al?" he asks. "Whie ar u maeking all da baelz lien uep like leedle faeciz?"
I chuckle out loud, for he is quite right; all eight balls on the rack are now lined up looking like little surprised faces with wide-open eyes and mouths all saying "Ohhhh!"
I show him how to insert his thumb and middle two fingers in the ball, demonstrating that the fingers must go in up to the second knuckle and the thumb must be able to move freely in order to be able to release the ball properly. At the end of the second rack, I find a rather non-descript reddish-colored ten pounder that has a nice feel to it, so I carry it to the ball return at our lane.
After a minute or so, I look up to see Legolas has only made it one rack further down from where I found my own ball. I watch as he carefully rolls each and every house ball to line them up with all the little finger hole "faces" pointing exactly in the same direction. They look like a multi- racial bowling ball boys choir captured in mid-song. Then, once all are perfectly aligned, he slowly and carefully places his thumb into each of the thumb holes. After he has tried every one of the dozen or so thumb holes, he goes back to the very first ball and inserts his ring finger into the right side of each of the double set holes. Twelve balls later, he repeats the whole process with his middle finger.
"Having trouble finding one?" I inquire.
"Noe, noet reely," he answers. To my puzzled look, he elaborates by pointing to the deep purple one on the topmost row and saying, "Dat won feetz my thuemb jest fien." He moves on to point with his ring finger at a black one on the lowest row, saying, "Dat won feetz dis feengur," then finishes by dramatically waving his extended middle finger about in the air, exclaiming loudly in his frustration, "buet DIS won, wael der jest eezn't eni hoel dat dis won feetz at all!"
Capturing his fluttering hand, I smile at how I have confused him. You know, it's the little things like this that endear him so to my heart.
Moving to the next rack, I wait as Prance Helpful aligns all the balls just so, then I show him again how to fit his fingers into the ball, emphasizing this time the importance of all three fingers in the same ball at the same time.
Sixteen dozen balls later, I come to realize the difficulty involved in fitting a house bowling ball to the fingers of an elf. You see, to get the thinness of his finger width, you have to sacrifice not only depth of the finger holes but also the weight of the ball. The only ball in the whole place that will remotely work is a six-pounder, colored an incredible shade of bright neon hot pink.
"Dis weel neber due," says the Prance, shaking his blond locks side to side and sighing.
"I know it's pink, Legolas, but really, it's the only one in here that fits your hand. No one in here is going to notice you're a guy playing with a hot pink ball," I cajole, pulling him back down the length of the entire bowling center to our lane.
"Buet, al?!" he protests, dragging his feet and pulling back all the way. "Buet, al!?"
Finally reaching lane #13, I drop the hot pink ball into the ball return. The Prance gives up and goes back to his seat on the bench to sulk. After a few moments, I crack.
"What?" I exclaim in frustration. "Did anyone giggle? Has anyone noticed? Has anyone said one single word about you looking like a girl with your long blond hair, slim fingers, and a hot pink bowling ball???"
"Well, I was gonna say. . . ," pipes in Yes Dear.
"Shut up!" I holler at him.
Legolas continues sulking. When I finally throw my hands up in desperation and go to sit at the far end of the bench from him, he mumbles something so low even elven ears couldn't have heard it.
"What did you say?" I ask, fighting to regain my composure.
"I sed, DAT baell doezn't goe wid DEZE shoez!" I stare at him, totally unprepared for that line of logic in his reasoning. "DAT baell goez wid DOZE shoez like Yeas Deer iz waerring," he concludes forlornly.
Well, he IS right, you know.
Yes Dear enters us all in the computer, putting Lil' Pip up first, typing in 'Arwen' for me and then 'Gandalf' for himself. Legolas snorts. Not passing up an opportunity, Yes Dear continues by typing in 'Orcbait' for Legolas last.
"Hae!" protests the Prance. "Dat'z noet my naem!"
"Now, 'Gandalf'," I plead, "don't tease. He's already having a hard time. Change it, please."
"Yaeh!" seconds 'Orcbait'.
"Not until he stops sulking and gets off his posterior and knocks down at least 50 pins," counters 'Gandalf'.
Legolas contemplates this challenge for a second before wisely pointing out, "Der'z oenlee tin of doze thaengz owt dere. Hoew kin I nok doewn feeftee if dere ar oenlee tin tu begin wid?" He folds his arms across his chest as he snorts again.
"Like this," says Lil' Pip, taking charge of the situation. She saunters up to the ball return, hefts her ball with both hands, shoves her fingers into the holes, walks up to the line, and with her trademark roundhouse wrist- snapper pitch, throws her ball. It bounces off the left bumper pad, crosses the lane, bounces off the right bumper and meanders back to hit the front pocket right between pins #1 and #3. Seven of the 'white men' with their red collars go sprawling. She dusts off her hands and marches back to the ball return, waiting.
"Dat thaeng aet her baell!" babbles the Prance. He watches wide-eyed as the metal bar of the pin setter sweeps down and clears the fallen pins from the lane, carefully setting the remaining pins back in place.
"Noew it'z eetin doze wite thaengz!" he gapes. As he stands open-mouthed, Lil' Pip's ball comes rumbling up the track and pops out of the hole on the ball return.
"Woah . . . ," says 'Orcbait', taking a step back.
"You don't wanna put your hand down in there," states Lil' Pip matter-of- factly, pointing at the deep cavernous mouth of the ball return.
"Whie noet?" asks a confused Prance, moving forward once again to peer down into the blackness of the hole.
"There's a cave troll down there," announces 'Gandalf'.
"Woah . . . ," breathes 'Orcbait'.
Lil' Pip rolls again, adding one more to her score for a total of eight in the first frame. I continue to amaze all with my true Mary Sue capabilities by completing my first frame by rolling a perfect strike with a ball I have never touched before today.
(A/N: I remind you once again that this is a NON-FICTION story. I really did throw a strike on my first frame. I really, really did.)
Yes Dear throws a spare and we all enjoy watching the little cartoon characters on the computerized score machine spell the work S-P-A-R-E with bouncing rubber balls in a rainbow of colors. Even Legolas is now smiling.
At least he was. It's 'Orcbait's' turn to bowl.
"Want me to help you?" asks Lil' Pip.
"Noe, I kin due it," answers 'Orcbait'. "I'v bean wachin eberybuddie."
'Orcbait' saunters up to the ball return in a perfect imitation of Lil' Pip. He picks up his hot pink ball with both hands, carefully slides his fingers into the holes, lifts the ball, and steps up onto the approach. He stands holding the ball under his chin and then bends his knees and does the same silly little bobbing motion Yes Dear always does. He shifts his weight and shuffles his feet just like I do, as if trying to decide which foot to step forward with first.
Hey, I didn't think anyone knew I did that every single time.
He steps off left foot first (just like I do, I think to myself), saunters up to the line, swings his right leg across behind him (just like Yes Dear), then . . . pulls the ball off his right hand using his left one.
What?
He swings his right leg back under him until his foot is firmly planted pointing straight ahead just like the left one, perfect shoulder widths apart. He sets the ball down on the foul line and, with a mighty shove, pushes the ball with both hands down the center of the aisle.
Just like all four of the little girls in the lane to our left.
Hmm . . . it seems 'Orcbait' hasn't missed a single trick, has he?
Dusting his hands together, he turns and walks matter of factly back to sit down in his seat on the bench. His ball rolls on, abandoned, down the center of the lane, heading toward the pins. About halfway down the lane, it develops a mind of its own and starts a slow diving twist to the left. About three feet in front of the #7 pin, the ball drops gracefully into the gutter.
The computer places a little (-) mark in the first ball space of 'Orcbait's' first frame. 'Orcbait' sulks.
"It'z dese shoez," he grumbles. "Dey jest doen't goe wid dat baell!"
The second ball of the first frame doesn't work out any finer than the first one did. Neither do the next 8 rolls he delivers. At the start of the fifth frame, 'Orcbait's' score is still a big fat zero.
"We should let him use the beginner's gutter guards," whispers 'Gandalf'.
"Don't you think he'd be terribly offended?" I whisper back.
"Not if we play it right. Follow my lead," whispers the crafty old dodger.
Turning to Lil' Pip, 'Gandalf' says moderately, "You know, I love that little duck that comes up beside your name when it's your turn to bowl."
I hadn't noticed it before, but every time the gutter guards rise from their hidden spot in the channels on each side of the lane for Lil' Pip, a tiny yellow duck appears beside her name.
'Orcbait' is suddenly all elven ears.
I take my turn, and when I finish, 'Gandalf' takes his. Guess who's up next?
As if by magic, the gutter guards appear in the channels on each side of the lane. 'Orcbait' stands beside the bench waiting to see if the little yellow duck will appear, and when it does, he smirks smugly as he steps up to the ball return for his opportunity.
Lifts the ball. Sticks in the fingers. Steps up to the approach. Does the little Yes Dear bobbing thing. Shuffles his feet like me. Moves on to the delivery. This time he places the ball in the left channel and gives it his trademark shove with both hands. Right down the gutter.
"I thot dose theengs wear goenna maek da baell nok ober sum of dose theengz," he ponders aloud, pointing first to the gutter guards and then to the pins.
"No, dummy!" says Lil' Pip, unable to maintain proper bowling etiquette any longer and giving unsolicited advice now by the gallon for free. "You still roll it down the middle!"
"Oeh . . . ," mutters the Prance.
On the next roll he goes through the same motions, but the ball rolls pretty as you please to the right, to the left, and bounces back to the center just as it strikes the #4 pin, taking out the # 7 and #8 as it falls.
'Orcbait' scores.
"WHHHOOOEEE HOOOOOOEEEE!!!!" he shouts, leaping in the air and dancing around. The four little girls in the adjoining lane take up the dance, cheering aloud despite their parents efforts to calm them. They've been watching him the whole time we've been here, and all four have much higher scores than his own.
He picks Li'l Pip up and gives her a good spin around. He high-fives Yes Dear and I, then turns to the couple in the adjoining lane competing in the tourney and shakes the husband's hand before giving the shocked wife a huge bear hug.
"Deed u sea dat??" he exclaims, grinning madly. "Deed u sea dat??"
'Orcbait's' sixth frame now has a great big "3" showing. He's been redeemed.
That's about the time he discovers competition is involved.
"Whut due deze nuembirz meen?" he asks 'Gandalf', pointing to the little numbers in the seventh frame of his score.
"This means you knocked down 2 pins the first time you rolled, and 2 more the second time you rolled," 'Gandalf' patiently explains.
"An dis meenz I noked doewn 3 peenz an den 2 moer?" he asks, pointing to the numbers in the eighth frame.
"That's right. You're doing just fine," I answer him.
He scowls at me. "U hav moer dan me. U hav moer dan enibuddie. U shuld shaer, doen't u theenk??" he protests, pointing a long finger at me.
"Won't last. Watch," I tell him confidently.
By the end of the first game, I lose to 'Gandalf' by only 3 pins, probably the closest I have ever come to beating him, and a record high score for me of 143. Lil' Pip gets a whopping 70, and 'Orcbait' . . .well, I'll let him tell you.
When I find where he's wandered off to this time. . . .
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Here's what you've really been waiting for . . . who am I fooling?
Lub Ledderz frum Legolas
Enchanted.Kaos-star[Dot]Net: Doen't dyee! Dat wuld bea baed! U wuld haev tu goe tu da hoespitael, an u doen't like dem, remaembur? If u wate tuu weakz tu due da lawndree, u weel haev . . . *kowntz on feengurz* eben moer lawndree! *snuegglz*
Kimmaree: I fownd al a spaerklee rok doewn bie da laek seanse she deen't git a keendnee stown. Id'z noet kwite da saem, buet I thaenk she likez it. *huegz u*
JastaElf: *taekz paen of LBS* Hannon le, Jasta an Ada! *sliedz tu da floar* You know, Jasta, I never thought I'd see it, but he managed that slide without spilling a crumb or giving up a single bite. Near drove the dog and 4 cats crazy though . . . . *drags the Prance back into the chair and waves the pan of LBS around to stimulate him back to life* Oeh. . . . Oeh, soerrie. *tipez wid mowful of LBS* Hey! You're getting the keys all sticky there! *OOuupz!* Soerrie. Doen't u theenk Arapron culd uze sum worrier braydz, Jasta?*seandz lub an keesiz tu u an Ada*
VladimirsAngel: He LOVES the washing. Make that LOVES the RIDING the washing MACHINE. I'm not sure he'd like riding the steam-iron in the same way *wreeglz wile u stroek my hare. . . * Mmmmm. . . dat fealz guud. I doent noe enithaeng abot feavurz. Hearz a hueg, maebee dat weel hep. *beeg huegz u vary gently*
Lady Silence: Oeh boey! Haelowean? Agin?? Oeh boey!!! *ruenz oeff tu sea whut I waent tu bea dis yeer* I culd bea a doktur, oer a leaprikahn, oer a preensis, oer a pierit! Datz it! I waent tu bea a PIERIT! *gievz u a hiegh fiev!*
daw the minstrel: Obsseene? Oeh noe, it'z FUEN!!! Sea? U jest staert da wader like dis, puet en da soep like dis, puet en da kloez like dis *pealz oeff kloez*, and den whin da leedle dyel gitz tu hear, u jest kleimb uep hear like dis. . . . LEGOLAS! Ooouuupz. Goetta goe . . . .
ariarwen: *kaetchiz keesiz* Dere u ar! Wear u luerkin? It'z guud tu sea u! *huegz*
TreeHugger: I kin vaekum, an duest, an waersh deeshiz, an skrueb da tueb tu. Jest doen't tael al, okae?? Elrond'z spaelz ar majikal. I jest weesh I haed tryd it erlear. Sae hae tu eberybuddie fur me, okae? *huegz*
Katani Petitedra: Hear. Haev sum peenuet budder. Maebee dat weel hep. *oeffurz jaer*
Newmoon: U wear joekin? Whoew, dat'z a reeleaf . . . . I deed sea da traylur . . . I hoep eberythang goez okae . . . . *reamiendz saelf noet tu biet feengurnaelz*
Brem Nakada: A feeld treip? Whur ar we goen? Kin I hav a biet of dat buerreetoe beafoar w goe? *druulz*
Writer from Rivendell: Rabbit faengurlz? Oeh noe, dat wuz da rakkuun oen da bak poarch dat haed raebeez, buet dat'z a hoel nuthr stoerree . . . Doen't wurk tuu haerd oen dat mafth dere . . . . *waevz tu u*
Phoenix Flight: al sez a kluestur reeng iz abot all da stownz she kin maenage en won huemin lieftiem. I gess it haz neber takin her soe loeng beafoar. Dat wuz abot 3 moenthz, en huemin tiem. *kueddlz*
Sperry Dee: *seengz* Haeppie Burfdae tu u, Haeppie Burfdae tu u, Haeppie Burfdae deer Sperry Dee, Haeppie Burfdae tu UUUUuuu!! *bloewz keesiz*
Laura: al sez tu tael u dose wear sum of da baest guweey chokolit cheep kuukeez she haz eber shaerd! Hannon le, soe muech! *smuuchez u*
The Karenator: Oeh! I LUB Teenkie-Weenkie! He iz soe kuet! Due u like my doktur owtfit? Maebee I weel goe fur Haelowean az a doktur . . . hae, maebee I weel bea Teenkie-Weenkie!! YAEH!!! *throewz keesiz tu u fur da woendurfuel ideea!*
Space-Case 7029: If u lub da doktur owtfit, wate teel u sea me az Teenkie- Weenkie! U shuld trie dat lawndree ried, mellon-nin. Waaaee tuu kuuul! *huegz u*
Holly :o) : U wuld theenk dat I doen't tawlk at all frum luukin at dose mooveez. All elf bizness an noe elf plae. Weal, I sae all elf bizness and noe plae maekz Legolas luuk like he kin at leest reamimbur heez lienz, doezn't u? *weenkz*
Michelle6: Duz Matt noe abot us? Meabee u shuldn't tael heem . . . . *hiedz frum Matt*
Magical Rachel: Mirakelz haeppin all da tiem - ebery tiem al kuuks it'z a mirakel. OEWW!! al!! An Sheffield - Hae! Hoew 'bot dem Blaedz? I hoep ur fealeeng bedder? *cueddlez u*
Deb: al, uehm . . . u sea, um . . . al duzn't, uhhhh. . . .al duzn't haev a . . . .nebermiend. Kin I ask u a kwestshin? Hoew due u breeth if u kin't stoep keesing? An haev u goet sumptheeng en ur eye dere? *haendz u a teeshue*
Lady Peredhel: al deed haev a stown -it'z dere oen da eggzrae. Dat wuz whut wuz kawzeeng da payne. U muest tael Haldir dat he ez reely meesing sumpthaeng oen da waeshur. Shoew heem, nin-mellon. *pueshiz u an Hal tuward da waeshur* due it jest like I toeld daw uep dere . . . .
Harry's Angel 69: Woooe Hoeee! (c Celeborn) Dere'z anuthur faengurl deeluerkin! Waelkum, mellon-nin! *bloewz keesiz*
The Two Princesses: Tael M u ar neber tuu yung tu lern tu ried da waesheeng masheen. I em oenlee soerrie I wuz hear a hoel yeer beafoar eniwon toeld me abot it. I mite bea a Pierit fur Haelowean - oer I mite bea Teenkie-Weenkie da Taelleetuebbie, I dunno yaet. Whut ar u goenna bea? al sez yaeh, it duz seam like she'z bean thru all dat fur nuthin, buet it'z goen noew soe eberythang iz bak tu noermul . . . wael, soert of noermul. Hearz sum huegz an keesiz fur u, bea shure tu shaer! *XOXOXXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOOXOX*
caranwen: al! al! She sed I em purfikt! Sea?? I toel u soe! Hannon le, caranwen! *smuuchez*
Grammar Laedee: Due all huemanz blaeme eberythaeng oen beeng oeld an haeving peesiz meesing? al sez dat all da tiem whin she maessiz thaengz uep. Thaenk u fur ur kiend wurdz abot my guud luukz . . . wate teel u sea me az a Taeleetuebbie! *keesiz ur cheak*
Anna: It muesta bean Elrond'z spaell. Deed u haev a guud tiem oen ur dayz oeff? I hoep soe! *huegz*
Wiccan 107: I hoep u keapt reedin an u weel fiend dis massage fur u eaveantuelly. It'z guud tu haev u wid us! *skweezez u*
Taylor: Hae, Taylor! I em glaed u seant me a massage oen da e-male. Doen't huert ursaelf, okae? *huegz u*
Anja: I deedn't noe ur Ada wuz a heelur?! Woew! I em glaed tu heer ur mum iz doen bedder. I baet she meesiz u. *snuegglz u*
PuterPatty: U haev tu steek kwaertur en ur musheen? Dat sowndz payneful! Dat al iz amaezeeng, izn't she? Whoe aelse due u noe kuld loowz a keednee stown? I baet eben Maeree Seuw doezn't noe hoew tu due dat. We meesid sumpthaeng? *dievz uendur da daesk luukin fur whut we meesd* I doen't noe whut u meen . . . . Dere'z dis peese of paypur doewn hear . . . luukz like sum kiend of a leest . . . *reedz, greanz an puetz da leest doewn da frunt of my jeenz fur saefkeapin* Coem an git it, baybee!
Nilmandra: My faevurit paert iz whin da aere bloewz uep thru da crakz arond da eadge of da lied of da waesheeng musheen. Dat teekulz! Yaes, I wuz vary guud oen al'z birfdae, buet I em NOET taellin abot whut I gaev her! *weenkz misscheeveeusly*
leail: weel u ried da musheen wid me if I coem? Whin we feenish wid da lawndree, I culd shoew u sum uthr deepz I noe! *speenz u arond an deepz u agin*
Cara6: We weel haev tu chaeng ur naem tu Cara7 noew, rite? Whin ur moem seant me da pikshur of u, I thot u wear goen tu bea 9 dis yeer! Woew, u ar soe groan uep! I doen't sea eni bandanaz en dis spiedur waeb. al sez she'z a riteeng speidur, buet soe far she duzn't rite eni bedder dan I due. I em glaed u haed a Haepee Burfdae! *doez da bierd danze wid u*
Andy8: U weel haev tu theenk of a wae tu peak, den. Dere ar sum vary eentureasteeng theengz en dose caebinetz! *puetz owr paelmz tugaethur, sliedz my haend unteel oenlee owr feengurz tuch, fleepz my haend ober an smakz u oen da bak of da haend, den shaekz haendz wid u agin*
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Answer quick! We're on a deadline here!
The disclaimer thing once again: I don't own him, he owns himself. I just pay his room and board and feed him every time he's hungry. As you can see, there is no profit in that. Well, at least not any monetary profit. I wouldn't trade him for the world.
Once again thanks to PuterPatty and leail for the beta job. It's nice to know I'm not the only one policing my commas. You guys rock my world!
Now, for a little something much more delightful than the past bit has been, at least from MY point of view . . . .
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Chapter 14 What's Your Score, Prance Legolas?
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, the NASCAR race was on last night instead of today, and there's not a single other interesting thing to do happening in the whole county.
Well, THAT'S never stopped us before.
"Let's go bowling," suggests Yes Dear.
"Yeah! Let's go bowling!" chirps Lil' Pip.
"Whut'z boewleeng?" inquires the Prance.
"You'll love it," I say, grabbing my bookbag with my wallet in it. "Come on."
The rain is coming down so hard on the drive up the Interstate that you can't see more than about three car lengths ahead of the nose of the car. For a minute Yes Dear considers pulling off to the side of the road until the shower passes, but that's too much like asking for directions, so he crawls along at 40 mph instead.
"Woew!" exclaims Legolas. "If we haed buebblz, dis wuld bea bedder dan da kaer waesh!"
Luckily the downpour ends about the time we arrive at the bowling center. Yes Dear grabs his bowling ball bag from the trunk, and we all follow him into the darkened building, much like a bunch of baby duckling's following their mother.
The place is packed. There are at least four birthday parties going on, not to mention some kind of tournament with a prize package of over $2,500 in cash and incentives. It's a forty lane bowling center, so there are still a few places where three humans and an elf can squeeze in.
We line up at the main counter, waiting for our lane assignment. Yes Dear decides to pre-pay for only a couple of games each, not knowing how we'll all hold up since it's been awhile since we've been here.
"What size shoes?" asks the man behind the counter.
Yes Dear gets a pair of 10's for himself, a pair of 8's for me, and a pair of 9 1/2's for Lil' 'Hobbitfoot' Pip. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, "What size for Legolas?"
"He wears a 12 narrow," I answer, watching the elf as he takes all of this in, standing quietly there beside me. He stares, wide-eyed and unblinking, down the fifteen lanes or so that extend off to our right hand side.
Yes Dear hands each of us our shoes and we make our way down the far side of the alley to Lane #13. We're squeezed in between a husband/wife team competing in the tourney and a young mom and dad with four of the cutest little girls on the planet, all under the age of six.
Sitting down on our little bench row of seats, we change our shoes first before going to select a house ball. All of us, that is, except Legolas.
"What's the matter?" I ask, noting the discouraged look he wears.
"I wuz wundureeng if I culd hav sum shoez like heez," he says, pointing to the wild neon monstrosities that Yes Dear wears. Orange on the big toe side and yellow on the other, with lime green heels and toes and hot pink shoelaces, they're honestly enough to make a grown woman sick to her stomach.
"What's wrong with yours?" I ask, indicating with a nod of my head the nice maroon and navy pair he holds in his lap.
"Dere noet az perty az da wonz he haz," pouts the Prance.
Well, we can't just switch them, for Legolas' long delicate feet are a good two sizes bigger than Yes Dear's. I walk back with him to see if the alley desk has another brighter, more colorful pair.
"We'd like to exchange these for a pair of those neon ones," I tell the desk clerk. He cocks me an eyebrow, not quite as effective as what I've become accustomed to but still readable. I know, I think it sounds loony too.
"I don't have any more neon's available in a Men's 12," he says.
The Prance's shoulders slump, his noble head hangs low. He's pathetic, really. We wander back to our lane where he dejectedly pulls off his blue- fading-to-black Nike Air Max Trance Running shoes and begins lacing on the subtle maroon and blue bowling ones.
"Whut duz dis nuembr meen oen da heal hear?" he asks, holding his left bowling shoe up and inspecting it more closely as he stalls.
"That's your shoe size. It makes it easier for the people who work here to put them away and to make sure you get the size you asked for," I tell him.
I watch as his bright elven eyes peruse the heels of everyone on the left side of the bowling alley. Soon he nods, seemingly more content, and finishes tying the bow on his left shoe.
Time to select a bowling ball. I start at the rack nearest our own lane and work my way to the left, looking for a nice ten-pounder that my fingers will fit. Legolas tails along behind me, watching as one at a time I roll each ball on the rack until the holes are visible, then line it up so the double holes are on top and the single thumb hole is below, and stick my fingers in.
"al?" he asks. "Whie ar u maeking all da baelz lien uep like leedle faeciz?"
I chuckle out loud, for he is quite right; all eight balls on the rack are now lined up looking like little surprised faces with wide-open eyes and mouths all saying "Ohhhh!"
I show him how to insert his thumb and middle two fingers in the ball, demonstrating that the fingers must go in up to the second knuckle and the thumb must be able to move freely in order to be able to release the ball properly. At the end of the second rack, I find a rather non-descript reddish-colored ten pounder that has a nice feel to it, so I carry it to the ball return at our lane.
After a minute or so, I look up to see Legolas has only made it one rack further down from where I found my own ball. I watch as he carefully rolls each and every house ball to line them up with all the little finger hole "faces" pointing exactly in the same direction. They look like a multi- racial bowling ball boys choir captured in mid-song. Then, once all are perfectly aligned, he slowly and carefully places his thumb into each of the thumb holes. After he has tried every one of the dozen or so thumb holes, he goes back to the very first ball and inserts his ring finger into the right side of each of the double set holes. Twelve balls later, he repeats the whole process with his middle finger.
"Having trouble finding one?" I inquire.
"Noe, noet reely," he answers. To my puzzled look, he elaborates by pointing to the deep purple one on the topmost row and saying, "Dat won feetz my thuemb jest fien." He moves on to point with his ring finger at a black one on the lowest row, saying, "Dat won feetz dis feengur," then finishes by dramatically waving his extended middle finger about in the air, exclaiming loudly in his frustration, "buet DIS won, wael der jest eezn't eni hoel dat dis won feetz at all!"
Capturing his fluttering hand, I smile at how I have confused him. You know, it's the little things like this that endear him so to my heart.
Moving to the next rack, I wait as Prance Helpful aligns all the balls just so, then I show him again how to fit his fingers into the ball, emphasizing this time the importance of all three fingers in the same ball at the same time.
Sixteen dozen balls later, I come to realize the difficulty involved in fitting a house bowling ball to the fingers of an elf. You see, to get the thinness of his finger width, you have to sacrifice not only depth of the finger holes but also the weight of the ball. The only ball in the whole place that will remotely work is a six-pounder, colored an incredible shade of bright neon hot pink.
"Dis weel neber due," says the Prance, shaking his blond locks side to side and sighing.
"I know it's pink, Legolas, but really, it's the only one in here that fits your hand. No one in here is going to notice you're a guy playing with a hot pink ball," I cajole, pulling him back down the length of the entire bowling center to our lane.
"Buet, al?!" he protests, dragging his feet and pulling back all the way. "Buet, al!?"
Finally reaching lane #13, I drop the hot pink ball into the ball return. The Prance gives up and goes back to his seat on the bench to sulk. After a few moments, I crack.
"What?" I exclaim in frustration. "Did anyone giggle? Has anyone noticed? Has anyone said one single word about you looking like a girl with your long blond hair, slim fingers, and a hot pink bowling ball???"
"Well, I was gonna say. . . ," pipes in Yes Dear.
"Shut up!" I holler at him.
Legolas continues sulking. When I finally throw my hands up in desperation and go to sit at the far end of the bench from him, he mumbles something so low even elven ears couldn't have heard it.
"What did you say?" I ask, fighting to regain my composure.
"I sed, DAT baell doezn't goe wid DEZE shoez!" I stare at him, totally unprepared for that line of logic in his reasoning. "DAT baell goez wid DOZE shoez like Yeas Deer iz waerring," he concludes forlornly.
Well, he IS right, you know.
Yes Dear enters us all in the computer, putting Lil' Pip up first, typing in 'Arwen' for me and then 'Gandalf' for himself. Legolas snorts. Not passing up an opportunity, Yes Dear continues by typing in 'Orcbait' for Legolas last.
"Hae!" protests the Prance. "Dat'z noet my naem!"
"Now, 'Gandalf'," I plead, "don't tease. He's already having a hard time. Change it, please."
"Yaeh!" seconds 'Orcbait'.
"Not until he stops sulking and gets off his posterior and knocks down at least 50 pins," counters 'Gandalf'.
Legolas contemplates this challenge for a second before wisely pointing out, "Der'z oenlee tin of doze thaengz owt dere. Hoew kin I nok doewn feeftee if dere ar oenlee tin tu begin wid?" He folds his arms across his chest as he snorts again.
"Like this," says Lil' Pip, taking charge of the situation. She saunters up to the ball return, hefts her ball with both hands, shoves her fingers into the holes, walks up to the line, and with her trademark roundhouse wrist- snapper pitch, throws her ball. It bounces off the left bumper pad, crosses the lane, bounces off the right bumper and meanders back to hit the front pocket right between pins #1 and #3. Seven of the 'white men' with their red collars go sprawling. She dusts off her hands and marches back to the ball return, waiting.
"Dat thaeng aet her baell!" babbles the Prance. He watches wide-eyed as the metal bar of the pin setter sweeps down and clears the fallen pins from the lane, carefully setting the remaining pins back in place.
"Noew it'z eetin doze wite thaengz!" he gapes. As he stands open-mouthed, Lil' Pip's ball comes rumbling up the track and pops out of the hole on the ball return.
"Woah . . . ," says 'Orcbait', taking a step back.
"You don't wanna put your hand down in there," states Lil' Pip matter-of- factly, pointing at the deep cavernous mouth of the ball return.
"Whie noet?" asks a confused Prance, moving forward once again to peer down into the blackness of the hole.
"There's a cave troll down there," announces 'Gandalf'.
"Woah . . . ," breathes 'Orcbait'.
Lil' Pip rolls again, adding one more to her score for a total of eight in the first frame. I continue to amaze all with my true Mary Sue capabilities by completing my first frame by rolling a perfect strike with a ball I have never touched before today.
(A/N: I remind you once again that this is a NON-FICTION story. I really did throw a strike on my first frame. I really, really did.)
Yes Dear throws a spare and we all enjoy watching the little cartoon characters on the computerized score machine spell the work S-P-A-R-E with bouncing rubber balls in a rainbow of colors. Even Legolas is now smiling.
At least he was. It's 'Orcbait's' turn to bowl.
"Want me to help you?" asks Lil' Pip.
"Noe, I kin due it," answers 'Orcbait'. "I'v bean wachin eberybuddie."
'Orcbait' saunters up to the ball return in a perfect imitation of Lil' Pip. He picks up his hot pink ball with both hands, carefully slides his fingers into the holes, lifts the ball, and steps up onto the approach. He stands holding the ball under his chin and then bends his knees and does the same silly little bobbing motion Yes Dear always does. He shifts his weight and shuffles his feet just like I do, as if trying to decide which foot to step forward with first.
Hey, I didn't think anyone knew I did that every single time.
He steps off left foot first (just like I do, I think to myself), saunters up to the line, swings his right leg across behind him (just like Yes Dear), then . . . pulls the ball off his right hand using his left one.
What?
He swings his right leg back under him until his foot is firmly planted pointing straight ahead just like the left one, perfect shoulder widths apart. He sets the ball down on the foul line and, with a mighty shove, pushes the ball with both hands down the center of the aisle.
Just like all four of the little girls in the lane to our left.
Hmm . . . it seems 'Orcbait' hasn't missed a single trick, has he?
Dusting his hands together, he turns and walks matter of factly back to sit down in his seat on the bench. His ball rolls on, abandoned, down the center of the lane, heading toward the pins. About halfway down the lane, it develops a mind of its own and starts a slow diving twist to the left. About three feet in front of the #7 pin, the ball drops gracefully into the gutter.
The computer places a little (-) mark in the first ball space of 'Orcbait's' first frame. 'Orcbait' sulks.
"It'z dese shoez," he grumbles. "Dey jest doen't goe wid dat baell!"
The second ball of the first frame doesn't work out any finer than the first one did. Neither do the next 8 rolls he delivers. At the start of the fifth frame, 'Orcbait's' score is still a big fat zero.
"We should let him use the beginner's gutter guards," whispers 'Gandalf'.
"Don't you think he'd be terribly offended?" I whisper back.
"Not if we play it right. Follow my lead," whispers the crafty old dodger.
Turning to Lil' Pip, 'Gandalf' says moderately, "You know, I love that little duck that comes up beside your name when it's your turn to bowl."
I hadn't noticed it before, but every time the gutter guards rise from their hidden spot in the channels on each side of the lane for Lil' Pip, a tiny yellow duck appears beside her name.
'Orcbait' is suddenly all elven ears.
I take my turn, and when I finish, 'Gandalf' takes his. Guess who's up next?
As if by magic, the gutter guards appear in the channels on each side of the lane. 'Orcbait' stands beside the bench waiting to see if the little yellow duck will appear, and when it does, he smirks smugly as he steps up to the ball return for his opportunity.
Lifts the ball. Sticks in the fingers. Steps up to the approach. Does the little Yes Dear bobbing thing. Shuffles his feet like me. Moves on to the delivery. This time he places the ball in the left channel and gives it his trademark shove with both hands. Right down the gutter.
"I thot dose theengs wear goenna maek da baell nok ober sum of dose theengz," he ponders aloud, pointing first to the gutter guards and then to the pins.
"No, dummy!" says Lil' Pip, unable to maintain proper bowling etiquette any longer and giving unsolicited advice now by the gallon for free. "You still roll it down the middle!"
"Oeh . . . ," mutters the Prance.
On the next roll he goes through the same motions, but the ball rolls pretty as you please to the right, to the left, and bounces back to the center just as it strikes the #4 pin, taking out the # 7 and #8 as it falls.
'Orcbait' scores.
"WHHHOOOEEE HOOOOOOEEEE!!!!" he shouts, leaping in the air and dancing around. The four little girls in the adjoining lane take up the dance, cheering aloud despite their parents efforts to calm them. They've been watching him the whole time we've been here, and all four have much higher scores than his own.
He picks Li'l Pip up and gives her a good spin around. He high-fives Yes Dear and I, then turns to the couple in the adjoining lane competing in the tourney and shakes the husband's hand before giving the shocked wife a huge bear hug.
"Deed u sea dat??" he exclaims, grinning madly. "Deed u sea dat??"
'Orcbait's' sixth frame now has a great big "3" showing. He's been redeemed.
That's about the time he discovers competition is involved.
"Whut due deze nuembirz meen?" he asks 'Gandalf', pointing to the little numbers in the seventh frame of his score.
"This means you knocked down 2 pins the first time you rolled, and 2 more the second time you rolled," 'Gandalf' patiently explains.
"An dis meenz I noked doewn 3 peenz an den 2 moer?" he asks, pointing to the numbers in the eighth frame.
"That's right. You're doing just fine," I answer him.
He scowls at me. "U hav moer dan me. U hav moer dan enibuddie. U shuld shaer, doen't u theenk??" he protests, pointing a long finger at me.
"Won't last. Watch," I tell him confidently.
By the end of the first game, I lose to 'Gandalf' by only 3 pins, probably the closest I have ever come to beating him, and a record high score for me of 143. Lil' Pip gets a whopping 70, and 'Orcbait' . . .well, I'll let him tell you.
When I find where he's wandered off to this time. . . .
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Here's what you've really been waiting for . . . who am I fooling?
Lub Ledderz frum Legolas
Enchanted.Kaos-star[Dot]Net: Doen't dyee! Dat wuld bea baed! U wuld haev tu goe tu da hoespitael, an u doen't like dem, remaembur? If u wate tuu weakz tu due da lawndree, u weel haev . . . *kowntz on feengurz* eben moer lawndree! *snuegglz*
Kimmaree: I fownd al a spaerklee rok doewn bie da laek seanse she deen't git a keendnee stown. Id'z noet kwite da saem, buet I thaenk she likez it. *huegz u*
JastaElf: *taekz paen of LBS* Hannon le, Jasta an Ada! *sliedz tu da floar* You know, Jasta, I never thought I'd see it, but he managed that slide without spilling a crumb or giving up a single bite. Near drove the dog and 4 cats crazy though . . . . *drags the Prance back into the chair and waves the pan of LBS around to stimulate him back to life* Oeh. . . . Oeh, soerrie. *tipez wid mowful of LBS* Hey! You're getting the keys all sticky there! *OOuupz!* Soerrie. Doen't u theenk Arapron culd uze sum worrier braydz, Jasta?*seandz lub an keesiz tu u an Ada*
VladimirsAngel: He LOVES the washing. Make that LOVES the RIDING the washing MACHINE. I'm not sure he'd like riding the steam-iron in the same way *wreeglz wile u stroek my hare. . . * Mmmmm. . . dat fealz guud. I doent noe enithaeng abot feavurz. Hearz a hueg, maebee dat weel hep. *beeg huegz u vary gently*
Lady Silence: Oeh boey! Haelowean? Agin?? Oeh boey!!! *ruenz oeff tu sea whut I waent tu bea dis yeer* I culd bea a doktur, oer a leaprikahn, oer a preensis, oer a pierit! Datz it! I waent tu bea a PIERIT! *gievz u a hiegh fiev!*
daw the minstrel: Obsseene? Oeh noe, it'z FUEN!!! Sea? U jest staert da wader like dis, puet en da soep like dis, puet en da kloez like dis *pealz oeff kloez*, and den whin da leedle dyel gitz tu hear, u jest kleimb uep hear like dis. . . . LEGOLAS! Ooouuupz. Goetta goe . . . .
ariarwen: *kaetchiz keesiz* Dere u ar! Wear u luerkin? It'z guud tu sea u! *huegz*
TreeHugger: I kin vaekum, an duest, an waersh deeshiz, an skrueb da tueb tu. Jest doen't tael al, okae?? Elrond'z spaelz ar majikal. I jest weesh I haed tryd it erlear. Sae hae tu eberybuddie fur me, okae? *huegz*
Katani Petitedra: Hear. Haev sum peenuet budder. Maebee dat weel hep. *oeffurz jaer*
Newmoon: U wear joekin? Whoew, dat'z a reeleaf . . . . I deed sea da traylur . . . I hoep eberythang goez okae . . . . *reamiendz saelf noet tu biet feengurnaelz*
Brem Nakada: A feeld treip? Whur ar we goen? Kin I hav a biet of dat buerreetoe beafoar w goe? *druulz*
Writer from Rivendell: Rabbit faengurlz? Oeh noe, dat wuz da rakkuun oen da bak poarch dat haed raebeez, buet dat'z a hoel nuthr stoerree . . . Doen't wurk tuu haerd oen dat mafth dere . . . . *waevz tu u*
Phoenix Flight: al sez a kluestur reeng iz abot all da stownz she kin maenage en won huemin lieftiem. I gess it haz neber takin her soe loeng beafoar. Dat wuz abot 3 moenthz, en huemin tiem. *kueddlz*
Sperry Dee: *seengz* Haeppie Burfdae tu u, Haeppie Burfdae tu u, Haeppie Burfdae deer Sperry Dee, Haeppie Burfdae tu UUUUuuu!! *bloewz keesiz*
Laura: al sez tu tael u dose wear sum of da baest guweey chokolit cheep kuukeez she haz eber shaerd! Hannon le, soe muech! *smuuchez u*
The Karenator: Oeh! I LUB Teenkie-Weenkie! He iz soe kuet! Due u like my doktur owtfit? Maebee I weel goe fur Haelowean az a doktur . . . hae, maebee I weel bea Teenkie-Weenkie!! YAEH!!! *throewz keesiz tu u fur da woendurfuel ideea!*
Space-Case 7029: If u lub da doktur owtfit, wate teel u sea me az Teenkie- Weenkie! U shuld trie dat lawndree ried, mellon-nin. Waaaee tuu kuuul! *huegz u*
Holly :o) : U wuld theenk dat I doen't tawlk at all frum luukin at dose mooveez. All elf bizness an noe elf plae. Weal, I sae all elf bizness and noe plae maekz Legolas luuk like he kin at leest reamimbur heez lienz, doezn't u? *weenkz*
Michelle6: Duz Matt noe abot us? Meabee u shuldn't tael heem . . . . *hiedz frum Matt*
Magical Rachel: Mirakelz haeppin all da tiem - ebery tiem al kuuks it'z a mirakel. OEWW!! al!! An Sheffield - Hae! Hoew 'bot dem Blaedz? I hoep ur fealeeng bedder? *cueddlez u*
Deb: al, uehm . . . u sea, um . . . al duzn't, uhhhh. . . .al duzn't haev a . . . .nebermiend. Kin I ask u a kwestshin? Hoew due u breeth if u kin't stoep keesing? An haev u goet sumptheeng en ur eye dere? *haendz u a teeshue*
Lady Peredhel: al deed haev a stown -it'z dere oen da eggzrae. Dat wuz whut wuz kawzeeng da payne. U muest tael Haldir dat he ez reely meesing sumpthaeng oen da waeshur. Shoew heem, nin-mellon. *pueshiz u an Hal tuward da waeshur* due it jest like I toeld daw uep dere . . . .
Harry's Angel 69: Woooe Hoeee! (c Celeborn) Dere'z anuthur faengurl deeluerkin! Waelkum, mellon-nin! *bloewz keesiz*
The Two Princesses: Tael M u ar neber tuu yung tu lern tu ried da waesheeng masheen. I em oenlee soerrie I wuz hear a hoel yeer beafoar eniwon toeld me abot it. I mite bea a Pierit fur Haelowean - oer I mite bea Teenkie-Weenkie da Taelleetuebbie, I dunno yaet. Whut ar u goenna bea? al sez yaeh, it duz seam like she'z bean thru all dat fur nuthin, buet it'z goen noew soe eberythang iz bak tu noermul . . . wael, soert of noermul. Hearz sum huegz an keesiz fur u, bea shure tu shaer! *XOXOXXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOOXOX*
caranwen: al! al! She sed I em purfikt! Sea?? I toel u soe! Hannon le, caranwen! *smuuchez*
Grammar Laedee: Due all huemanz blaeme eberythaeng oen beeng oeld an haeving peesiz meesing? al sez dat all da tiem whin she maessiz thaengz uep. Thaenk u fur ur kiend wurdz abot my guud luukz . . . wate teel u sea me az a Taeleetuebbie! *keesiz ur cheak*
Anna: It muesta bean Elrond'z spaell. Deed u haev a guud tiem oen ur dayz oeff? I hoep soe! *huegz*
Wiccan 107: I hoep u keapt reedin an u weel fiend dis massage fur u eaveantuelly. It'z guud tu haev u wid us! *skweezez u*
Taylor: Hae, Taylor! I em glaed u seant me a massage oen da e-male. Doen't huert ursaelf, okae? *huegz u*
Anja: I deedn't noe ur Ada wuz a heelur?! Woew! I em glaed tu heer ur mum iz doen bedder. I baet she meesiz u. *snuegglz u*
PuterPatty: U haev tu steek kwaertur en ur musheen? Dat sowndz payneful! Dat al iz amaezeeng, izn't she? Whoe aelse due u noe kuld loowz a keednee stown? I baet eben Maeree Seuw doezn't noe hoew tu due dat. We meesid sumpthaeng? *dievz uendur da daesk luukin fur whut we meesd* I doen't noe whut u meen . . . . Dere'z dis peese of paypur doewn hear . . . luukz like sum kiend of a leest . . . *reedz, greanz an puetz da leest doewn da frunt of my jeenz fur saefkeapin* Coem an git it, baybee!
Nilmandra: My faevurit paert iz whin da aere bloewz uep thru da crakz arond da eadge of da lied of da waesheeng musheen. Dat teekulz! Yaes, I wuz vary guud oen al'z birfdae, buet I em NOET taellin abot whut I gaev her! *weenkz misscheeveeusly*
leail: weel u ried da musheen wid me if I coem? Whin we feenish wid da lawndree, I culd shoew u sum uthr deepz I noe! *speenz u arond an deepz u agin*
Cara6: We weel haev tu chaeng ur naem tu Cara7 noew, rite? Whin ur moem seant me da pikshur of u, I thot u wear goen tu bea 9 dis yeer! Woew, u ar soe groan uep! I doen't sea eni bandanaz en dis spiedur waeb. al sez she'z a riteeng speidur, buet soe far she duzn't rite eni bedder dan I due. I em glaed u haed a Haepee Burfdae! *doez da bierd danze wid u*
Andy8: U weel haev tu theenk of a wae tu peak, den. Dere ar sum vary eentureasteeng theengz en dose caebinetz! *puetz owr paelmz tugaethur, sliedz my haend unteel oenlee owr feengurz tuch, fleepz my haend ober an smakz u oen da bak of da haend, den shaekz haendz wid u agin*
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Answer quick! We're on a deadline here!