The Dart Game
Two old women play darts and talk about memories
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Fifty-five. Not bad.” Helga said.
“Yes. Not good so, either, my friend. You have a chance, yet.” Greta answered.
Helga and Greta were very similar women. Both were seventy-five; both were of German descent; both were stocky, round, strapping women who by their own accounts had always eaten very heavily; each of them lost their husbands over five years ago; both women managed to stay rather content without a man in their lives; each woman loved to drink beer (their preference was imported German beer, of course); both had hair to match their bodies — big and round. The single noticeable difference between the two was that Helga’s hair was golden blonde and Greta’s was flamboyantly red. There was not a single gray hair between their two heads.
They loved to play darts. They were as giddy as crush-prone school girls when they played darts. The giggling went on all day. As a minimum, they met each Thursday afternoon at Helga’s home for a game of darts. They each liked to squeeze in at least two more games sometime during the week. Weather permitting, they played out on Helga’s patio where they set the dart board upon a single nail on the seven foot high brown wood fence which separated Helga from her neighbors.
