That’s Tiger Woods’ caddy for those of you who didn’t know. Which I didn’t know either but Google did and that’s what’s important.
But I digress…
A couple of nights ago my husband thought it would be fun to go to the driving range. That does sound like my idea of fun–if fun means humiliation. My husband and my father are both great golfers but I am not. I was a mediocre softball player and surprisingly that doesn’t translate to golf.
I overthink it. For some reason everytime I swing a golf club it ends up swinging like a softball bat. It’s bad. Real bad.
He first tells me it’s fine to wear sweatpants and a t-shirt as he’s putting on nice shorts and a polo shirt. Then I ask him if tennis shoes are fine and he says yes as he’s picking up his golf shoes. I have to use his clubs because I don’t hit enough to have my own. Well I’m about 5 foot 1 and his clubs are about 5 feet in length (or so it seemed). So I was basically choking up to the club head to take a shot.
I decided to hit next to a little boy who was maybe five. I thought he’d make me look good. Nope. He was better than me. MUCH better than me. I almost leaned over to ask for some advice but I thought his dad might think I was a wackjob.
I should have asked him for his clubs. They were probably about right for my height. I quit after about ten balls because I felt like all of those middle-aged men were judging me. So instead I just gave golf advice to me husband.
He did not listen.
Story of my life.
Along with my husband, these two don’t listen either.