After the hours of clean-up yesterday, all I wanted to do was relax. So did Pete. We define the word differently. After asking 2 or 3 times, "Do you want to play Miniature Golf?" he finally said, "Let's go!"
I'd said, "No," each time he asked.
But, I went. The poor guy misses his playmates (the boys) and someone has to fill in if he has an hour free.
Here we are before we started. Aren't we the happy couple?
It wasn't long before Pete had TWO holes in one. The first was with an assist. On the first hole, his ball landed about 4" from the hole. He wanted to hit it in before I hit mine. "Hey! What if my ball hits yours?" "Oh. So we're playing like that, are we?" Yeah. My ball hit his...straight into the hole.
By the 7th hole, he started cheating. He refused to write down my correct score because he was so embarrassed. I stink at golf, I always have. I'm good at croquet, but golf? phooey. I've tried and tried the miniature version, and I make the untrained Happy Gilmore's putting look like genius. With his cheating numbers, I got a 65. He had a 43. Par was 42. I really had over 85.
I guess the good news is that he won't ask me again. And there you go. That's what I did on my Saturday afternoon...
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