STRANGER THAN FICTION: HOW A SIMPLE GAME OF POOL CAN TURN DEADLY

It finally happened. Some girl convinced Josh to marry her. She scored the proposal, the engagement rock and the whole nine yards.

I don't know Josh well, but in my single days he was one of those guys I wished I knew better. Wink, wink.

But it was not to be. He went through a string of high-school students, luring them into his car with promises of value meals and All-4-One CDs. I went through a string of losers and finally ended up returning to my soulmate, who today is The Other Half.

So how could I say no when Josh and the boys asked me to join them for a few adult beverages and a couple games of pool? After all, he's heading for Chicago in two weeks to live with his fiancee. And everyone knows what happens to male friends when women sink in their claws -- you never see them again. Just ask The Other Half's friends.

Mr. Half had to work that night, so much to my dismay (ha, ha) he wasn't able to come. When I asked if he minded me going, he simply held out his opened wallet.

We have a strange and wonderful relationship.

Everything went well at first. We settled in at a local sports-oriented bar and started buying beer and shots for Josh, who apparently will drink anything he doesn't have to pay for.

I stuck to Diet Coke and bummed cigarettes -- all the buzz, none of the guilt. When you're "width challenged" and trying to change, you tend to avoid large quantities of beer. I'm tired of underestimating the vast proportions of my thighs and banging them against arm rests, desks, planters, etc.

It's kind of fun to be the only girl with a bunch of guys. They forget you don't have all their parts and start talking like they really talk, commenting on the waitress' impressive chest, mourning the loss of friends who recently married, belching in the middle of words. It felt like a real cultural exchange.

The downside was after the pool game started.

Two guys in the group shoot pool regularly and consider themselves Minnesota Fats proteges. The other three of us are happy when the cue ball makes contact with anything else. Don't laugh -- Josh managed to hit all four sides of the table and sink the cue ball without hitting any other ball. When I sank the cue ball after making a shot, he yelled, "Great! You got TWO in!"

We decided to play pairs -- one good player matched with one bad player on each team. Unfortunately, my partner wasn't satisfied with my performance and felt every shot was his chance to practice for the instructional pool video he plans to make one day.

"Heidi, you're hitting the cue ball too high!," Ron shouted. "If you'll hit it low, you'll put a backspin on it and it'll come back to you after you knock one in. Then you're ready for your next shot. Now watch me."

As bad as I was before, I got worse. It was too much pressure.

Finally, sensing my despair, a more chivalrous member of the group decided to step in on my behalf. Ron decided to pull a fellow pool shark at the next table into the fray. Things got a little tense.

Finally, it was time for me to step in with my feminine side.

"Look, it's just a game," I said. "If you all don't stop this, I'll start crying and go home."

Silence fell over the group. Ah, the power of estrogen.

I think I'll stick with the girls from here on out. Nobody gets into a fistfight over how to shop.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.