Okay, so I was kind of telling this story the other night, but I was outside and it was raining, and I was getting wet, and we all know that I’m too sweet to get rained on – I’ll just melt. Or something like that.

Whatever. Stop laughing! It could happen.

Hey! I am too a nice person! Yuh huh!

Well, okay.  Most of the time.

Anyways, I thought I’d just post it here because you might find it mildly entertaining. So, without further ado, here’s The Dart Story:

I had just started dating Rugby Boy, and…well, let’s just say that Rugby Boy was the type to really need to show people (especially women) who the “real” man in the room was. So, we go out to the local bar one evening with one of his roommates. We had every intention of playing a game of pool, but all the tables were taken, so we lined up a game of darts.

Now, aside from just casually tossing darts at a board, I’d never played a game in my life. It is worth  mentioning, though, that I tend to have an aim similar to Annie Oakley (unless of course it’s 30 degrees outside and I’m shooting my monster revolver, then I’m shooting someone’s hat off of their head. Doesn’t matter). I joke that if it can be loaded with some sort of ammo or projectile, I’m hitting the target and causing some decent damage – even if it is high and to the right. Again: does. not. matter.

So, you can guess what happened when I started throwing darts. Yep. Bullseye. Pretty much right off the bat. Then I started hitting the numbers as I should and doing pretty well.  In short, I gave him a very decent run for his money and it was pissing him off.  He started talking smack, trying to make me feel guilty for doing well, he even tried to taunt me and distract me from throwing some decent shots.

In the end, Rugby Boy blamed it on “beginner’s luck.”  He would never shoot darts with me again, though. Just in case.