Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Getting Over It…

His wife took up the habit of golf a couple of years ago. She’s improving (on some days). It’s a work in progress. Like all golf habits, on any given day progress can back up on you.

It’s not difficult to figure out how the game went when she gets home. (Did I hear an ‘Amen’?) It’s also a dead giveaway on how the remainder of the day will go.

Today she came in with a smile…a good sign. She sat down and said, “I had a great round today. I’m gonna keep my clubs after all! Except there’s a problem that still plagues me.” Did he hear the word ‘problem?’ No husband wants to hear that word spoken by his wife. Why? He still bears the scars of problems past, those he created, actual or otherwise. He kept silent.

She continued, “Do you want to hear about my problem?” she said?

Of course,” he replied. He lied sometimes, too. “Is it about me?” She looked at him for a moment and said, “Well, you’re usually to blame, but not this time. At least not yet.” Whew. He breathed an audible sigh of relief.

She continued. “I just can’t get over it,” she said. “Over what?” he asked. “The marsh on number 10,” she said. “Doesn’t the cart path skirt it?” he ventured, sticking a toe in his mouth. “Are you listening? I’m talking about hitting the ball over the marsh from the tee box to the green. Don’t be obtuse,” she said.

He didn’t know the meaning of obtuse. So he stuck another toe in with the first one and asked, “How many balls…” She cut him off before he finished. “Don’t go there,” she said. He pushed it. He knew better but had a big mouth after all. It kept him in the traps and roughs most of the time. “How many did you lose today?” he said quickly.

You’re ruining my perfect mood,” she said defiantly. “Enough! Just listen for once in your life.” Her stare would have melted a block of ice. Familiar territory, he thought. And the toes tasted badly today.

Why can’t I hit over the marsh and how can I solve this problem?” she asked. “You’re asking me, a person who’s never played golf in his life? Try hitting down the cart path,” he said. “Very funny today, huh? Go ask some of your pals,” she said. “Ok,” I said, “I’ll ask around. Haha, a good pun, huh?” She looked disgusted.

Women ask profound questions. Answers to them can usually be found in gyms, bars and locker rooms. He tried them all. Carl said, “She has a brain. Tell her to quit using it.” Speaking of obtuse. He asked Terry. “Easy. Tell her to give up the sport and stick to bridge,” he said. Ouch. He doesn’t know what a bad day is if she loses at bridge.

Funerals are not on the A-list, but he ran into Howard there. “Pure physics,” Howard said. “Tell her to take the club back further and hit the ball harder.” He ignored that idea. Too early for his funeral. The interrogatories continued. He ran into Don in the bar. Good scotch makes all things clear. He explained the dilemma. Don took a long swig and answered.

Matter over mind,” Don said. “If she has the physical strength to hit over it, the rest is easy. Gotta kick failure out of the brain. She has a brain, right?” He avoided the question. “Tell her to grab a bucket of old, cheap balls, don’t count the strokes and hit until it gets across. Repeat it. Failure will move out.”

“Brilliant. Let me buy the next round?” Don looked at his empty glass and said, “OK, and I’ll tell you one more trick.” He did and he did. “Never use the $10 balls. She’ll start counting the cost, and you know about women and costs,” Don said. Who didn’t know that!

He reported to her his research. She was pleased. Cooked him dinner. All’s well that ends well, he thought…until the next problem. But until then, he had a problem of his own to get over. He called Don and asked if he knew how to get his toes out of his mouth. Don said…..

Bud Hearn
October 14, 2010

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