Golf's Not For Me

I wrote this in 1986 when I lived in Green Lake, Wisconsin.  Since then, I’ve learned to like golf.

Is there anyone in Green Lake who doesn’t play golf?  I’ve watched men and women out on the fairways whacking at those silly balls all summer.  I wish it would snow on them. 

I bought clubs ten years ago.  My husband gave them away five years ago – with my blessing!  But this spring I signed up for a lesson and joined the Ladies’ League.  Why?  Something to do with being in Rome and – you know the rest. 

During my lessons (all two of them), I hit some beauties.  An exhilarating peace overwhelmed me when the club made square contact with the ball.  I finally nailed that sucker!  But on the golf course, I bombed.  I crept down the outside edges of the fairway a few yards at a time. 

If some of you ladies in the Wednesday Ladies’ League are reading this and thinking, “I wonder why I haven’t seen her on the golf course?” it’s because I only lasted three Wednesdays.  I finished nine holes one of those Wednesdays.  It took four hours and I swung the club well over 100 times.  The other three in my foursome assured me that the mob backed up behind us was friendly.

“Do I really like this game?” I kept asking myself.  I like the exercise.  I like the fresh air.  I like the conversation.  I just hate that golf ball!  I thought, “This is going to cost me hundreds of dollars before I even begin to like this game!”  Then I confessed to temporary insanity and asked my husband to shoot me if he ever saw another golf club in my hands.