Jane knocked down three pins before the ball went in the gutter. Nobody snickered. Nobody laughed. No one made a sound. Then a thunderous applause and everyone in the bowling alley was on their feet whistling, clapping, jumping up and down, the classic standing ovation. Jane was confused until she turned and looked.
The music changed.
The drag queens arrived en masse, in all their glory. They were dressed in their sequined evening gowns, replete with spangles, full makeup and wigs, they were glorious. They even brought their own bedazzled bowling shoes.
The manager ran out and removed the tinsel and lights from the two lanes reserved beside of ours. The lights went low and laser lights, mirror balls, black lights, and neon blazed. The crowd went crazy. More stomping, whistling, and clapping. The Queens smiled wide and waved. Some took off their elbow length gloves and whirled them above their heads in recognition.
They exchanged their stilettos for their bedazzled bowling shoes and it was game on. Jane, who’d never broken a hundred in bowling in her life, wasn’t the only one enchanted.
First up was Miss Samantha, tall and lithe. Her ensemble was an emerald green floor length gown, slit up her left leg far enough to tease the curiosity from the toughest of cats. It hugged her hourglass figure so tight it might have been painted on her, and oh, how she glistened. Her coiffed hair was flaming red, not auburn or Lucy red, but fire engine red. She got a strike.
Madam Alexis from the other team of Queens also knocked down all the pins in one fell swoop. A magnificent six foot six black woman glittered in red. “Take that honeys,” she said to the other team. The trash talk had begun.
“This is the best birthday party ever,” Jane said.
Devonne Brown 
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