I can golf... sort of

This is a picture of me playing my first-ever golf game in October 2005, on Prince Edward Island, Canada, where Husband and I spent our third-anniversary vacation. There were golf courses all over PEI's scenic coast, and we picked one sort of randomly. Instead of paying a hundred dollars each to play on the 18-hole course (which we didn't have the clothes for, anyway), we went to the golf academy and played nine holes for 30 dollars for both of us.

I finished 50 over par. Not bad, eh?

While we were on the sixth hole a father and son started out behind us, on the first hole. They were the only people we saw the whole time we were out there. By the eighth hole they had caught up to us and we let them play through. They were a lot faster than me.

I had a lot of fun. I insisted on playing my ball no matter where it was. I made Husband do the same, which is why we have pictures of him hitting his ball from an out-of-bounds area full of knee-high weeds.



The most devastating part of looking over these pictures and remembering this golf game is not my abysmal score or that I have not played golf since. It is instead that the pants that I am wearing in this picture have been lost forever. I left them and a red pair just like them at the laundromat back in July. They were my favorite pants of all time and I lost them. If they were to turn up somehow, it would be even more exciting than finding my monkey-sock book.