|
|
|
 |
|
|
A GOOD
WALK SPOILED My
boyfriend, Max, is trying to get me into golf. He will pay for
lessons, he says. He’ll even buy me clubs. We’ll be able to
share something together that we’ll be able to do even into our
senior years, he coaxes. I’ll love it because of my competitive
spirit, he promises. We
were at dinner recently with a couple of his old friends and their
wives, and both women are now avid golfers after having their arm
twisted.” For Max, this was proof that I would love it, too. I
have never had an interest in golf. I know who Tiger Woods and
Michelle Wie are, and therein lies my entire knowledge of and
interest in golf. I notice the cute outfits Michelle is wearing more
than her ranking, and admire her poise with the media more than her
golf swing. An
old boyfriend also tried to get me interested in the sport because
he was so addicted. He
would break dates with me if anyone called with an opening in their
foursome. He swung at invisible golf balls all the time, holding an
invisible club in his hands...and I swear he could see a ball flying
over the greens to its planned destination because he was looking
mighty content with his virtual performance. I was a “golf
widow” and we weren’t even near getting married. That certainly
didn’t endear me any more to the game – or to the relationship.
Bub-bye. It
was a bit of a challenge when I was asked to do the publicity for a
new golf course some years ago. I wrote a great press release and
the job was successful, but I’ll admit to not understanding almost
everything I wrote. I rode in the golf cart the whole time, smiling
at people who might as well have been speaking a foreign language
– birdies, eagles, albatrosses. What’s up with the bird
obsession? What
is this power that golf seems to hold over its victims? How can any
hobby that takes four to five hours a pop and costs major bucks. I
like tennis, canoe paddling, bicycling and hiking – free to
low-cost activities – active
activities where you actually move around instead of chasing a
little ball around in a cart. Uh-oh,
I can see the hate mail now from golf addicts everywhere. But before
stabbing your pen into that paper, let’s wait awhile. Max
doesn’t like a lot of things I do – tennis, shopping, chick
flicks, etc. – but he endures them all because I like them. So,
I guess I’m signing up for golf lessons soon. Only time will tell
if I will be eating my words and swinging at invisible balls with
that glazed look in my eye. But if I do, I know I will be dressed
very cute, just like Michelle. Fore! Mona K. Wood is a publicist and writer. Reach her at ikaikacomm@hawaii.rr.com. |
|
