Cee’s Share Your World challenge asks what words make me smile. Today, someone mentioned golf and I burst out laughing. Years ago, I needed one more PE class for college and ended up with golf. Never having touched a golf club before, stuck in a group of country club-ettes, I had a serious handicap. The instructor mostly left me to my own devices while he flirted with the clubettes. I had no idea what I was doing, but didn’t want to wreck my grade point average. For our final “exam,” we were required to play an actual game of golf (my first!) and our score would determine the final grade. I am laughing as I type this. My husband was not yet a teaching widower, although he could see the writing on the wall. Being a sweetheart, he agreed to accompany me to a local public golf course.
I started laughing hysterically with my first swing. I wasn’t even close to the golf ball and nearly wet my pants as I swung repeatedly, chopping up grass and creating muddy pits at the starting line. My husband gently pointed out the multiple groups of players waiting to start. I was bent over with laughter and motioned everyone to go ahead. Fellow golf enthusiasts muttered but I could barely swing the club from laughing so hard (it is an exhausting game). In desperation, I asked my widower where the ball was supposed to go, he pointed, and I threw it hard. Of course, I laughed hysterically as the ball wimped out on me and I had to throw it again. And again. And again.
Throwing the ball left the field intact, but other golfers were a bit out of sorts. I continued to laugh helplessly, perhaps as much from anxiety as my pitiful performance. We spent hours sweating and carousing on that field. I managed to throw my way to the fourth hole (well, my dearest widower ended up reluctantly throwing the ball for me) and I gave up. I had counted every swing (but not the throws, of course), which numbered close to 400. I was drenched in sweat, aching, and panicked. Here’s a little math question: If I played the whole course with 372 swings per 4 holes, how many swings would I average in all?
My widower found out what a low-average score was and I reported that score to my instructor (120, I think) . He was incredulous and accused me of lying. The clubettes giggled, my face was bright red, and I held on to that whopper with as much sincerity as I could manage. I ended up with a B.