thebeckybug

The boyfriend had a birthday this week, and on his wish list was a new set of golf clubs. I was determined to not contribute to this particular gift for fear of screwing it up … until I got roped into accompanying him to Golfsmith. And those are always the famous last words in our relationship: until I got roped into accompanying him/her to someplace (see IKEA trip.) My definition of roped in being that The Domain is close to Golfsmith and one cannot possibly miss a trip there.

I paid my dues, was a good, uninterested girlfriend during our time in Golfsmith. I discreetly enticed him to make a purchase ASAP and we got out of there with a full new set of clubs within an hour (awesome!)

He understandably wanted to try out his new clubs at the driving range, and after an unsuccessful trip to The Domain, I offered to drop him off at the driving range while I could shop at the nearby Target (see above definition of ‘roped in’ and apply.) For some strange reason, I got out of the car at the driving range. For a stranger reason that I will never understand, I stayed to watch him swing and see how he liked his new clubs. I guess I was overcome with his contagious new-golf-club-excited-energy and actually got interested in what he was doing. So much that I picked a club out of his bag and started swinging. at. an. actual. golf. ball.

And then the earth shattered and fell into a million pieces. You thought that shaking-of-the-entire-house-feeling came from the Indianapolis area, but in fact, it was a result of me making contact with a golf ball with an actual golf club. A driver even.

The last time I picked up a club, it was an old step-father’s and that trip to the driving range nearly resulted in tears. Needless to say, I’ve avoided the g-word as much as possible, ever since. Until this weekend.

The first shot, I admit I got pretty lucky and landed the ball in a place other than where it started between my feet. I started stealing more balls from Carson’s bucket and eventually got the hang of it. At one point, he convinced me he was paying a compliment when he said I could hit it better than his grandma (apparently she has played golf before.) The driving range also proved to me that I needed to go to shopping for a golf glove instead of the intended Target run.

I own a golf glove. I never thought I’d be saying that. My golf glove has accompanied me through 18 holes so far, and has a lot more to look forward to, believe it or not. I truly don’t believe it. I am actually enjoying learning the game, and can’t be more surprised every time I actually make contact with the ball and send it flying through the air.

Guaranteed, I’m still working out how to actually hit the ball on the first try so I can stop lying when I say “no, that was just a practice swing.”