So if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you are most likely aware of my family’s long and storied relationship with the game of golf. And if not, let me just give you some of the highlights.
So apparently this weekend a lot of the major players on the PGA tour were in Chicago participating in the Cialis Western Open. And, as usual, my parents were trying to convert me into a golf lover, extolling all the virtues of the game like mental discipline, elegance, beauty, drama, history, tradition, blah, blah, blah. But I was not buying it At All, because I could not get past the fact that the whole entire theme of this particular sporting competition was, “Men Having More Sex Because Their Penises Work Better.” (Apparently I was the only one who found that even a little weird.)
And so I declared to my parents that from now on I was going to refer to this particular event as, “The Penis Open”.
I have always had an a stormy relationship with golf, beginning with my first golf lesson at age 9 and continuing up through last Sunday, when I was unable to lend my full attention to the actual tournament play due to the unfortunate propensity of my pants to unzip at random times as I walked the course. Because nothing says class and sophistication like the occasional flash of your hoo-ha. (Unless you are a drunk, twenty-something college guy who thinks it is COMPLETELY appropriate to appear in public wearing brown, patchwork, vertically-plaid Bermuda shorts with a light green and white, horizontally striped, polo shirt. Holy. Hell. If there was ever an argument for allowing us everyday citizens to be armed with tiny, semi-poisonous blow dart guns, This. Was. It.)
But, I digress. My dad absolutely LOVES golf and so, when I was 9 and my brother was 6, he and my mom signed us up for golf lessons. I did learn a lot from those lessons, but unfortunately none of it had to do with the actual game of golf. Mostly it had to do with everyone coming to the realization that I am one of the most physically uncoordinated human beings to ever walk the face of the earth. And the rest had to do with the fact that, even at age 6, my brother was basically a golf Super Star.
So, just bear these things in mind as I tell the rest of this story. It will all tie in at the end, I promise.
So last Friday I was getting ready to leave for my haircut, and I noticed this black pickup truck parked in front of my house. That in and of itself wasn’t suspicious, but unfortunately, because I am a woman and I was home alone, I had to at least be aware of it in the back of my mind.
Especially as it was still there 20 minutes later, as I got into my car.
Especially since the moment I started up my driveway, a man got out and started staring at my house. And the closer I got to leaving, the closer he got to me and my house, all the while looking back and forth from something in his hand, to me and my house. And then, as I started to pull out onto the road, he started talking on his cell phone, and then looking back at whatever was in his hand, and then looking back at me and my house.
So I decided not to leave just yet, drove back down the driveway, parked, and then called my husband. I was afraid that I was just worried about nothing, but then the man came storming across my lawn in my direction, not paying attention to what he was doing, and looking for all the world as if he was coming to bash in my windshield and do God knows what to me.
My husband told me to go back inside and call the police, which I did, and fortunately they took me seriously as well, and sent out a patrol car to check the situation out. I will say that I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my entire life, and I have a totally new appreciation for the police, who arrived within 2 or 3 minutes of my call.
I started to feel a little better as I watched events unfold, and by the time I saw the police officer shake hands with the man I figured that it was okay to breathe again. As it turned out, the man actually lived down the street from us, and his car had died right in front of our house, and he was impatiently waiting for the tow truck to arrive which it finally did, simultaneously with the police.
And then, as I watched the man preparing to leave, I saw him reach into the bed of his pickup truck and pull out a pair of golf shoes and a set of clubs. And I knew exactly why he was acting so crazy-he was freaking out because he was going to be late for his tee time.
Golf. I had to call the police because of golf.
Apparently, I just cannot escape.