Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Fore WHAT?

If you looked at me on paper, I am supposed to like to play golf. I do not. And it's not a Green Eggs and Ham situation. I'm never going to like it. I have tried, I have failed and it's just not going to happen in this lifetime. That being said, it's all around me, figuratively and literally. My mom LOVES to golf. She's actually pretty good. She even won a car by nailing a hole-in-one during a tournament at the esteemed Oakland Hills. My son is into it. And Dave likes little more than golf. Oh, and have I mentioned that we live on a golf course? Thus the literal surrounding. I can't get away from it. I have a precarious truce with the game as I am left with no choice but to deal with it. I try to peacefully coexist. It's much like a loveless marriage. I'm cool with the fact that most of my friends and family play but I don't want to get coerced into it. And they try.  Ohhhhhhh, they try. "Goobie! It's so fun! And you're so athletic! You could be really good if you would just try!!!!!" I don't know how many ways there are to say that you are not interested but I do believe I've tried most of them. Golfers are a lot like Bible Thumpers. They won't give up until you're being dunked in the river and baptized and start screaming, "Sweet Jesus, I've seen the light!!!! How could I have been so wrong my entire life???" My dad is my companion in arms on this one. He is staunchly against it. Like me, he is supposed to like golf. If you looked up "golfer" in the dictionary, it probably says "old white guy". That's my dad. He also lives on a golf course. And he also does not like golf. He does not want to play golf. Ever. He does not even want to entertain the TOPIC of golf. I do believe he has actually said that he HATES the game and he was rather emphatic on this point. I believe it harkens back to an incident that involved the hurling of a nine-iron but I digress. We have similar feelings on this. I don't like participating in activities that a) I suck at and b) take a ridiculously long time in a BEST case scenario. Four hours is a pretty big chunk of your day. And that's if there's not a dumb-ass in front of you. And there are a lot of dumb-asses that play golf. Your odds of being stuck behind one are pretty fuckin' good. Trust me. I think they should put horns on golf carts as well as shopping carts. And maybe a PA system. "Excuse me? You? With the 12-putt? AM I NOT BACK HERE???????" or "DUDE. THE BALL IS GONE. I will personally buy you a new one if you will give up with your futile search and move along so that having fulfilled my obligation, I may end the living hell that is this game and go do something I actually enjoy. Like have a big fat gin and tonic. Which probably would have made this 'good walk spoiled' go a little more smoothly". Shit. Now I'm in a bad mood. Even thinking about golf makes me a little surly. And now I have to walk out my front door and smile and wave at all of my fellow country club members that look so freakin' happy to be swinging a club around at a little white (and very hard to hit) ball. GRRRRRRRRRRR. 

1 comment:

  1. If one of those golfers is my mom tell her that her golf orphan daughter is trying to call her and to please pick up her MOBILE phone. Thx.