The Hole (In One) Thing Stinks

(My boyfriend has taken up golfing and is always wanting me to go with him and his friend. I don’t really like golfing. I agree one day and go along with another of his friends who has never golfed before. It is a hot summer day.)

Boyfriend: “We’ll go in pairs. [My Name], you go with [Non-Golfer], because the two of you will just hold us back.”

(Halfway through the third hole, the non-golfing friend has had enough and decides to head to the clubhouse. I play through until I catch up to the other two. They are teeing off at a fairway that starts at the base of a hill. Each time they try, the ball just keeps going sideways into the rough. I tee up my ball as they are both searching in bushes.)

Boyfriend: “Ha, [Friend], just stop and watch this. We need something to laugh at.”

Friend: *as I start lining up my swing* “I can see what you meant when you said she can’t play golf… HEY, [My Name]! You are standing on the wrong side of the ball.”

Boyfriend: “No, she’s got that right; she’s left-handed.”

(I am feeling very self-conscious as I take my swing, expecting the ball to join them in the rough, but instead, it sails straight up the hill and over the top. I look up and see both of them with their jaws dropped.)

Friend: “What the f*** was that?”

(They both try a few more times before deciding that the heat is affecting them and calling it quits.)

Me: “But I want to finish this hole.”

Boyfriend: “Nope, it’s too hot; we are leaving.”

(And that was the last time he ever took me golfing.)

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