The Afternoon In Which I Worked As A Caddy

I know there are those who like to hit the pool… or the lake… or even the mountain streams when the mercury in the thermometer raises itself high enough to burst out the end of the glass tube.

We’ve never been the type who follows the crowd, though.

So, on the hottest day we’ve had yet, Hubs and I loaded up the boy and Cousin B, and we took them golfing for eighteen entire holes, because WHY NOT?  Normally, I don’t go golfing.  Oh, I’ll go to the driving range, where I’ll snap seventeen hundred photos of boys smacking balls and crossing their fingers that they hit the 200 yard sign.  Sometimes I’ll even visit the practice putting green, where I have to remember to be VERY QUIET while boys are lining up their shots.

(For the record?  I’m not always good at being very quiet.)

(I’m also not good at singing, playing a musical instrument, remembering to do the laundry in a timely fashion, or watching someone rip the meat off of a chicken leg with his teeth.)

When it comes to hitting the golf course and taking in nine (or ten… or thirteen… or eighteen… or whatever) holes of live-action play, I always throw down my PASS card and my GET OUT OF JAIL FREE card.  I actually took golf as a PE course in college, and the instructor suggested that maybe I needed to just stick with softball.

(It may have been because I was continually yelling out, “Strike one!” whenever I whiffed a golf ball and missed it, and I had to replace so many divots, I might just as well have laid fresh sod over the entire course.  I also talked to my friend, Vicky, too much, which made the instructor have to remind us when it was actually our turn to hit.)

But, on a day that was sweltering hot last week, Hubs and I rented two golf carts.  We decided to give up the luxury of indoor air conditioning and caddy for the boy and B.

(You seriously didn’t think I was going to walk all eighteen holes in the heat, did you?  Had that been the case, then I know one caddy who would have thrown the golf bag down on the third hole and said, “I’m dehydrated!  I’m dying!  I’m crawling to the clubhouse and its air conditioning.  They have life-sustaining Gatorade there!”)

(I mean… It thrills me to no end, if you thought that we walked eighteen holes, but I’m not really very good at being outside in all the nature when it’s four hundred and six degrees outside.)

(Which is why we had the golf carts.  The roofs provide some form of shade for delicate creatures like myself.)

After the first three hundred feet of driving, the boy and B commandeered the golf carts.  They wanted to drive, because they’re boys, and boys will drive anything with wheels.

So really?  I’d probably just better be honest and admit that Hubs and I didn’t really even caddy for the boys; we were really just the responsible adults who secured golf cart rentals for underage children, and then abandoned the clubhouse rules, which states you must have a valid driver’s license to… you know… DRIVE the carts.  Basically, I was a piece of eye candy in the boy’s golf cart.

And, people, we had the very best time!  It was so much stinking fun.  The four of us laughed our heads off, and someone got a lecture on how you don’t drive sideways on a steep hill with a 98% grade, because the chances of you flipping the golf cart and killing your mama are high.

(However, we took a break from all the HAPPY PARTYING on the 11th hole, where the boy hit three balls into the pond and missed a putt that was mere inches away from the flag.  That hole wasn’t the best time, because we learned that Cousin B and the boy are quite competitive when it comes to keeping score in golf.  The boy beat B on the first nine holes by two strokes, and then he FELL BEHIND after the horrors of the 11th hole.)

(For the record?  The boy beat B by two strokes on the first 9 holes.  B beat the boy by 3 strokes on the back nine holes.  If I’m doing the math correctly… carry the one… take away the tens column… then I come up with the answer that B beat the boy by one stroke on all eighteen holes.)

(B may or may not have done a celebratory dance that could have gone viral on You Tube, had I been quick enough to film it with my phone.)

(Suffice it to say that there was much flinging of the arms and kicking of the feet, and all I could think of was Elaine on Seinfeld.  I laughed so hard at that boy, I actually snorted like a congested horse.)

(Also?  It is very hard to say things like “the boy beat B” and “B beat the boy,” because it makes me want to buy seashells from Sally at her little seashore shop.)

I did have my camera with me in the golf cart (Because OF COURSE I DID!), so I pretended to be the paparazzi stalking the youngest players in the US Open.

I also have photographic proof that they finished up all eighteen holes.  I made them pose with the flag on the green every single time they completed a hole.

(You should note that Cousin B is very shy in front of a camera.  He also has no personality whatsoever.  He’s just something of a flat, dull child, with no animation.)

IMG_6054 IMG_6061 IMG_6064 IMG_6066 IMG_6082 IMG_6089 IMG_6096 IMG_6100 IMG_6101 IMG_6111 IMG_6147 IMG_6149 IMG_6154 IMG_6167 IMG_6174 IMG_6182 IMG_6189 IMG_6190And then… WELL OF COURSE… I took quite a few snapshots on our outing of the boys being golf stars, but let me tell you this.

It was practically four hundred degrees outside, with direct sunlight from straight overhead.  Those are conditions that are not favorable to even the best professional photographers.  These snapshots have themselves some shadow issues, people.

These two are pretty much the cutest twelve-year-olds around these parts.

I may be prejudiced, though, since I’ve changed both of their diapers and loved them since they were tiny babies.

IMG_6063_resizedIMG_6023

IMG_6022_resized IMG_6025_resized IMG_6026_resized IMG_6027_resized IMG_6036_resized IMG_6037_resized IMG_6039_resized IMG_6042_resized IMG_6044_resized IMG_6046_resized IMG_6047_resized IMG_6048_resized IMG_6049_resized IMG_6050_resized IMG_6052_resized IMG_6056_resized IMG_6057_resized IMG_6058_resized IMG_6065_resized IMG_6067_resized IMG_6068_resized IMG_6069_resized IMG_6074_resized IMG_6077_resizedIMG_6079_resized IMG_6080_resized IMG_6084_resized IMG_6088_resized IMG_6094_resizedObviously, I’m quite good at landscape photography…

IMG_6083_resized IMG_6143_resizedNot to mention wildlife photography…

IMG_6118_resizedThis is a picture of an argument, as the boys tried to decide how many hits they’d each had on this hole.  Their discussion delayed our game by a good five minutes, which gave Hubs and I plenty of time to rehydrate from our water bottles.

IMG_6097_resizedEventually, those boys came to some sort of agreement on who had hit how many.  They were friends again… and we continued on our merry way to the next hole.

IMG_6104_resized IMG_6105_resized IMG_6106_resized IMG_6108_resized IMG_6110_resized IMG_6113_resized IMG_6114_resized IMG_6117_resized IMG_6122_resized IMG_6126_resized IMG_6127_resizedThis is what a bad shot looks like…

IMG_6130_resizedThis is what your cousin does when you pull off the worst shot in golf history…

IMG_6132_resizedIMG_6135_resized IMG_6137_resized IMG_6145_resized IMG_6151_resized IMG_6157_resized IMG_6160_resized IMG_6176_resized IMG_6178_resized IMG_6186_resized IMG_6187_resized IMG_6192_resized IMG_6197_resizedI can honestly say that this was one of the most fun afternoons Hubs and I have had all summer.  The boys were hysterical… they had so much fun driving their golf carts and racing one another (which Hubs allowed, because he said racing is in a boy’s bloodstream and you can’t fight it)… we laughed… we had some good serious conversations about life… and the entire afternoon was priceless.

After we finished up, we drove out to see Grammy and Papa in Small Mountain Town.  Thing 2 joined us, since he’d taken a good nap with Mam while we were golfing.

He cooled off by crawling into Grammy’s outdoor fountain.

IMG_6199_resized IMG_6201_resized IMG_6204_resized IMG_6210_resized IMG_6213_resized IMG_6243_resized IMG_6268_resizedPapa gave the big boys some cold, hard cash.  They biked down to the little fireworks stand, and they came home with enormous bags of explosives.

IMG_6231_resized IMG_6232_resized IMG_6233_resized IMG_6234_resized IMG_6235_resized IMG_6237_resized IMG_6245_resized IMG_6249_resized IMG_6252_resized IMG_6254_resized IMG_6255_resized IMG_6256_resizedAnd… because they’re boys… an anthill suffered through a severe war.  The insects were poorly prepared for warfare, and the boys were armed with weapons of mass destruction.

IMG_6274_resizedAnd THAT, people, was one fine afternoon.  The boy spent the night with B at Grammy and Papa’s house.  Hubs and Thing 2 and I returned home to our air conditioning, and everyone was deliciously happy.

Have a great Wednesday night, folks.

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