“This ain’t no hobby.” No honey, that is exactly what this is.
“I hear God best on the golf course.” Well, that’s funny, because you sure don’t hear your phone ringing when I call.
I hate golf and I’m not afraid to admit it.
I don’t hate it in the sense that I’m bad at it or think it’s boring. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty athletic. I can hit the ball reasonably well. No, I hate it because Golf is the new Call of Duty. It’s just another excuse for our men to act immature. I hate golf because out of the last 9 summers I have been with my fiance Dylan, golf has consumed the last five of them.
Friday date night? No such thing. Golf league starts at 4:30. That’s fine, we’ll go on a date Saturday. HAH. Unheard of. Saturdays are reserved for outings. Sunday brunch? Those plans don’t stand a chance against an 8am tee time.
But surely when we go up north for vacation I can catch a break and spend some quality time with my family and my man. Think again! My cousin Bake n’ Take will be stepping over my head at 6 AM trying to find Dylan for their 7:03 tee time.
I don’t even want to get into how much money has gone to golf over the years. If betting wasn’t a thing, I think we’d have all our wedding expenses paid off by now. And if I had a dollar for every time I had to pick up Dylan and his drunk friends, I could probably afford a new car. Currently, I’m driving a rusted out 2002 Chevy Silverado with a newly missing tail light (oops sorry Darrell).
One time I was even conned into buying Dylan a new putter – he claimed it would up his game and he’d spend less time on the golf course. I think it made him worse seeing as he’s spent more time at Sandy Creek this summer than at work. Although he did golf one over par – 73 – at Bedford Hills Golf Club (he told me he’d call off the wedding if I didn’t include that in the blog).
And you know what else drives me crazy about golf? You can never just play for fun. If I shoot a 9 on a par 4, so what? I’m not trying to be the next Tiger Woods or Phil Mickelson. And let’s be real, you can try but none of you will look as good as Rory or Brooks on a Sunday afternoon. If I want to slam 10 White Claws and leave my 5 iron on the eighth hole, don’t yell at me or tell me I’m embarrassing. As I said, it’s just a hobby and we’re playing for FUN.
But also, who in their right fucking mind golfs 36 holes in one day? I can barely make it through 9 holes at Old Town’s par 3 course. Tell me that doesn’t sound crazy. The ONE good thing to come out of golf in the last five years is Dylan’s wardrobe is finally upping its’ game.
Ladies, Fall is upon us. It’s time to take back our weekends and drag our men to the cider mill.
That’s all. Rant over.