In Memorial

Last week, Jake got me a surprise.  His hint was that the gift could be named "Homer."  For anyone who is familiar with the Simpsons, you would know right away the gift is really meant for the giver in some way.  It's a disguised purchase.  He bought me my own set of golf clubs.  Jake's a foot taller than me so I'm pretty sure this isn't a Homer gift.  How can he use clubs that are so short?  Honestly, I was not sure the inevitable golfing was going to live up to whatever Jake imagined when he thought up this idea.  But who can resist the idea of St. George in March?  I agreed to go after negotiating a trip to the outlet shops.  Away we went....

It wasn't too bad.  In fact, I didn't bomb.  I was nervous, especially because we had to golf with a stranger.  Luckily, he was friendly.  And he didn't make fun of me.  And sometimes he gave me tips.  There was a one hole that made me really mad.  Apparently, a lot of golf courses have holes with a dog-leg.  I hate them.  It's impossible to not swear 3,000 times about it.

IMPORTANT PART OF THE GOLFING STORY:  The sixth hole was my last one.  It was the shortest shot and easiest of all the holes.  It was a short distance but it crossed the water.  In the water there were 3 ducks.  Jake said my only job was to not hit the duck.

I whaled the duck.  He didn't even see it coming.  The ball hit him right in the middle of his back.  Poor little guy was mad.  Probably sad too.  And a little injured.  I decided that the chances of hitting the duck were as good as getting a hole in one.  So.... I called the game.  That was my last swing of the day. 

Jake and the stranger finished the last 3 holes while I sat (sometimes drove) the cart and read Pride and Prejudice from my Kindle.

I'm positive that the Duck Incident doesn't bode well with my history of animals.  But it was pretty much the funniest thing that ever happened to me on a golf course.