<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/7297/tzuhccaneoolbdb6g.jpg) <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Steffy – CC</span></strong></div></div><br/>And that’s what I like about Mechelle (well, many things, but)—she supports my blondeness.  The Alty ale is quite good even at the first lavish taste.  Hmm.  Knowing that Mechelle has connections, I inquire: “Like, don’t they have spokes-girls for ales . . . I wouldn’t decline serving as such for this one for my standard fee.”<br/><br/>Things could now be getting complicated.  I may have to come up with a fee, a standard one.  AND Robbie is being put in charge of scoring!  “Rob-a-roo, our team, the unofficial good-bad girls, is one point away from victory.”  I hope that Robbie takes to friendly nicknaming as I fluff off imagined cobwebs as I’ve been out of dart action for a while.<br/><br/>“This could be it,” I say with some drama for the many who have been inattentive.  “all I have to do is hit the board and score a measly point.”  This, of course, upsets the plan for us losing (Courtney!) so that I become an indentured waitress for some period of time.<br/><br/>I take careful aim, pump back and forth and let fly with what will be the winner.  EXCEPT someone has nudged me!!!!  My missile hits outside the board and the wall is unforgiving, not accepting, rejecting it and sending it to the floor.  Not knowing the rules, I hope to establish, “A miss doesn’t result in penalty.  Right?”  I really, really don’t want to deduct from our fabricated score!<br/>