Yesterday was my birthday, and I can cry if I want to.

Here’s why I want to: My husband and I cleared our schedules and got a babysitter so we could celebrate the big 3-6 properly with a round of golf. Things were going just great—I was two over through six—when disaster struck.

It came when my husband put his ball into a bunker. After hitting a fine shot out of the bunker and onto the green, he attempted to rake. Grasping the implement firmly by his right, ungloved hand, he looked down to discover that his palm now bore a strong resemblance to a prickly pear.

The rake in question, manufactured of a mysterious fiberglass substance, was apparently degrading and shedding fiberglass splinters—literally hundreds of them—right into my husband’s hand. There would be no more golf for my husband that day I can tell you.

Back at the pro shop, we explained the situation and recommended that the offending rake be severely punished. The young man behind the counter seemed highly unconcerned. “They’re unbreakable,” he shrugged.

It was golfus interruptus.

And here’s the other reason I want to cry.

I just learned, to my dismay, that I share a birthday month with TravelGolf’s own Chris Baldwin and former president Bill Clinton.

I ran into Clinton once at a toy store. I was there with my daughter. He was scoping chicks. No, just kidding. I hope.

Permalink 12 comments

Bookmark/Search this post with: