March 4 - Frank

Today’s my mom’s last day visiting me in Chicago. Sometimes it’s hard for the two of us to decide what to do together because we like to do everything. Go for a walk? Great. Shop? Fantastic. Sit on the patio and read our books in silence? Sign us up. It’s too nice out today to not be outside, so that slightly narrowed down our activity options.

“Should we maybe be crazy… and play another 9 holes?” She asked me, wiggling her brows.

“I don’t see… why not…”

We didn’t have a tee time, but figured that enough people were actually working (unlike us two lucky ladies) that we could probably walk on the public golf course a mile from my place.

We showed up, played slightly dumb, and after way too long of a conversation with the man at the counter (which included, but was not limited to, many jokes about the two of us being sisters… gross… and how unusual it was to see two beautiful women golfing together… you get the gist… ), got ourselves a start off time in 20 minutes. After giving each other an indiscrete fist bump and making slight retching noises once we were out of earshot of desk-guy, we made our way to the starting box with my bag of clubs in tow.

A single male golfer, older than my mom, probably enjoying a nice day of retirement, was already over there warming up and chatting animatedly with the starter (the guy who checks you in and sends you off, for those of you non-golfers out there). I gave the golfer a once-over and decided we’d have a nice time playing together. He had a beat-up leather golf bag with 4 clubs (for those of you non-golfers out there, my bag has 10) that looked like they’d lived out more days that I had. And a pair of jeans on that I was slightly concerned might end up around his knees after a couple holes. But he also had a very nice swing and an easy smile. Dare I say we were going to get lucky again with our random pairing?

Bill pulled himself away from the conversation with the starter to introduce himself, his eye contact and good spirits further confirming my initial suspicions that he was a decent dude. Plus he didn’t make a single comment about how beautiful either myself or my mother was. Not that I don’t think we are beautiful. More just that at 10:30am on the golf course, there are some other compliments I care a little more about. Ie my beautiful swing.

I gave the starter my name, and my mom and I chipped back and forth while we waited for the group of four in front of us to start their round. It is necessary for me to add here that they were bad. Really bad. One guy went left, another right, another went about 20 feet. It was a sh*t show. Bill continued yapping away with the starter, blissfully unaware of what we were in for.

After the group of 4 in front of us had each hit about 4 shots, it was time for Bill to kick us off. His nice swing and his 1975 golf club got him a decent ball down the middle of the fairway. Not bad, but not anywhere close to as far as I can hit a drive. I smiled inwardly. I wouldn’t call myself a show-off necessarily, but who doesn’t like a little admiration over something they’re good at?

“Good shot, Bill!” I called to him.

“Thank you, Larkin.” He said with a wink. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

My mom and I started to head to our tee-box a few yards up (gotta take the wins for women where you can get them), but were stopped by the starter.

“You know the two of you only have one bag?” The guy who had just been oh so cheerfully talking with Bill now pinned the two of us with what can only be described as the hairy eyebrow. Seriously. It was like he went from chatting with his BFF to reprimanding a pair of misbehaving children.

Now, my mother and I are not golfing novices. We know that typically you need a set of clubs per golfer. But when we had gone out yesterday, they told us it was early enough in the season that it didn’t really matter, and to have a great time. I decided to take the high road and be nice. “Oh, yes, this is my mom, she’s just visiting so she’s borrowing my clubs for the day. We’ll be speedy, though, no need to worry!”

“It really doesn’t matter if she’s visiting or not, both of you are supposed to have your own set of clubs. I guess I’ll look past it for today, but this absolutely cannot happen again. I hope you understand, I could get into big trouble with my boss for this.”

Oh? The boss who just 10 minutes earlier had somehow managed to hit on both of us? Grand.

Probably seeing the look on my face, my mom stepped in. “Thank you so much for being so understanding.”

“Yeah, uh huh, sure,” he replied. “Maybe the two of you can play best ball together so you can keep up with the men in front of you.”

Smoke started coming out of my ears at this point. Holy toledo. If this dude thought we were going to be waiting on the bimbos ahead of us, he had better have had another thing coming.

“Thanks, Frank*! Have a great rest of your day!” Bill called back, cheerfully waving, as I absolutely stormed over to the women’s tee box. No ‘great day, Frank’ from me, that was for sure.

“Do you want to go, or do you want me to go first?” My mom asked.

“Oh, please, you go. I am way too mad right this second to swing a club.”

She laughed and took her place at the box. Her shot was decent, also down the middle, a little farther than Bill’s. My turn.

I got up to the box. I swung a couple practice swings, making sure to make them really fast and really hard. I could feel Frank’s eyes on me. My drives yesterday had been pretty good, but this one needed to be great. I took a step back from the ball and lined up my shot with one eye closed, mapping out where to put each foot. I stepped up, positioned myself perfectly, set up my club. Took a deep breath. Pulled my arms back… and connected. I knew before I looked up that the drive was going to be. Absolutely. Perfect.

And boy, was it.

Straight down the middle. Probably a 250 yard drive, 50 yards or less from the green. The group of 4 in front of us all stared dumbfounded from their spot on the green. Mhm. Read it and weep, boys.

Bill actually began clapping. “Wowieeeee, you creamed that one!”

I did not turn around. Did not give Frank the satisfaction of a smile or a wave. I just said, loudly enough that he could probably hear if his hearing aids were turned on properly, “Well Mom, I think yours is good, but you and Bill are both welcome to play mine if you want to do best ball.”

I proceeded to hit a perfect second shot and one-putted. Frank saw the entire birdy.

Bill, my mom and I had a very nice, very slow 9 holes. We were always on top of the group of 4 in front of us, I finished out four over par, and I (somewhat foolishly) hope that Frank learned today to have a little more respect for female golfers.

*His name has been changed, even though he doesn’t deserve it :)