i bought new darts last week.

last week i went to the dart store and i bought new darts. i went to the dart store last week and, after trying out several different brands and weights and thicknesses, i bought new darts. at the dart store last week, i tried out several different brands and weights and thicknesses, seeing which ones stuck better, which ones had a better arc, which ones flew out of my hand like birds attempting escape. and then i bought new darts. they look like this:

admittedly, i don’t just like darts because they’re fun and i’m pretty damn good. i like them because they’re fun and i’m pretty damn good and i’m a girl, and most girls i know aren’t even interested in darts, let alone any good. i love hearing people say “it’s great to see more women playing darts.” i love hearing people say “kick his ass!” i love the horribly tacky flights that i almost bought until andy talked me out of it, the ones with the roses and the glittery letters that spell out “DART BITCH”.

playing a lot of darts means i spend most of my time with only seven of my friends, in various combinations, at various bars. we throw, stand around and wait our turn, throw, stand, throw. chalky hands are an issue, as are contact lenses, point calculations, and puncture wounds. teams are formed. drinks are purchased. i miss my friends who aren’t the seven people i play darts with. i haven’t talked to them in forever. when you yank the dart out, the hole it left closes right up, as if nothing had ever pierced the surface of the board.