James was a golfer. He lived on a golf course. I did not. I think my dad let me polish his golf clubs for him once. That is the one and only time I ever held one in my hands.
James wore collared shirts and seemed sophisticated. He carried a golf club wherever he went and practiced his swing. I didn't mind most of the time but it wasn't so fun when we were in a crowd. He told me once that he wanted to marry a woman who could golf. I told James I knew how to golf. I lied. A big lie. But that's okay because I went to confession a long time ago and atoned for my old sins and any future sins I might commit.
Our one and only date consisted of me meeting him at his house which was situated on a golf course and taking a bucket of balls and his clubs out to the 7th hole to hit a few. James went first and hit a few balls. He was good. Really good. I watched him intently and then I lost interest after he smacked the 30th ball over the sand trap and started daydreaming.
I have a very short attention span.
James asked me if I wanted to hit a few balls. "Sure," I answered jumping up off the grass and dusting off my brand new golf attire. I confidently took a tee from him and carefully placed it in the grass, then I licked my finger and held it up over my head. I have no idea why I did this except for the one time I watched a golf tournament on TV and I saw a guy do this. I figured it would make me look like I knew what I was doing. James' eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned a little but he didn't say a word. I ignored him. I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted down the green assessing the right club to use for my perfect shot.
Did I mention already that I had never swung a golf club in my life, except for that one time my brother was walking by while I was cleaning them, but that's another story.
I searched my memory for the names of the clubs. I remembered two - or so I thought. One was a 9 Iron.
I didn't ask for that.
I looked James squarely in the eye and said, " Hand me your Woody."
His eyes grew wide with excitement and his voice cracked as he said, "Here?"
What in the world was he talking about?
He pushed his golf bag in my direction and asked me to choose instead. I pulled out the club with a wood base. He eyed me carefully. I wrapped my hands around the top of the club. I figured it was just like holding a bat. I swung once or twice for practice, then went in for the kill. I couldn't wait for him to be impressed. I couldn't wait for the proposal. I missed on the first swing...and the second...and the tenth and hundredth try. James grew weary and lay down on the grass to take a nap. I kept at it. He left for a while to have dinner, do some homework, and walk the dog. He came back when it was dark holding a sleeping bag, a flashlight and a tent. I was still at it. He started to set up his little camp and then just as quickly stopped. He walked right up to me, snatched the golf club right out of my hand, and kicked the ball off the tee into the sand trap. He threw the club and with both hands grabbed my face and said, "Is there something you'd like to say to me now?" "Yes," I answered. "Well," he said. I took a deep breath and said, "Hand me the 9 Iron." James stormed off in the direction of his house and I never saw him again. Apparently James was a quitter and not the guy for me.
on the way home I met HIM....