Knit 1, Putt 2. Or: Putt, Putt, Pout.

David thought it would be "fun" to go golfing together. As if that doesn't sound bad enough, he entered us in a tournament. Um, sure, I went to golf lessons before and I was the best in the class. Well, maybe I wasn't the best in the class, but I was the teacher's favorite... that could've been because I was the best, or it could have been because I knitted him a golf club cover. With a pom pom on top! I guess I don't have pictures on this computer, so you'll just have to take my word for it that it is absolutely FABULOUS! Anyway, I am better with pointy metal sticks than I am with big long ones. So a golf tournament did not have me very excited.
I hate the feeling of people behind me waiting for me to hit the ball into that dumb little cup. I really hate not being good at something, and having witnesses there to see it too. I can't stand the pressure, and then that just makes it worse. Same thing happens to me in bowling, that's why it is possible (and dare I say, probable) for me to bowl anywhere between a 22 and a 35. Sure, I had a few decent hits, but I have no muscle memory and can't replicate the good that I did. That's why my first hole I was excited to get it in with only 4 or 5 hits (on a par 3) and the second hole took me 7. I stopped counting on the third hole after 7 and ended up kicking my ball into the hole. I didn't touch a club for the rest of the evening after that. I just carried my dumb little glowing ball (it was an unlit night tournament and I have to admit the glowstick stuff did look a little bit cool...but not enough to make me uncrabby) for the next 4 holes. Almost every one of my first graders can tell you that 3 holes plus 4 holes does not equal 9 holes. That's because it equals 7 holes. By the time we reached the seventh hole (which was actually the first hole of the course, but we were assigned to start at the 3rd) I found a bench that was fairly well lit by the clubhouse lights and pulled out my knitting project. I let my team handle the last 2 themselves.
I know what you're thinking, "that's not being a good sport!" But if you had been there, against your will, doing something you're not good at, in the freezing (okay maybe 70 degrees, but it was dark and there were heavy winds...that calls for a parka or at least a cardigan!) cold, with David (who is not as enjoyable when he's golfing as he is during other normal interaction), his little buddy, the buddy's 18 year old girlfriend (who decided to take part in the costume contest portion of the evening as a scantily clad Alice in Wonderland), and her mother (who was making weird comments about the daughter's boyfriend's butt), AND missing Survivor, you'd have been a poor sport too.