He
claims to love golf because it’s a nice excuse to be outdoors and enjoy a sport
that not only relaxes and challenges him, but gives him a chance to ponder the
big picture. The real reason he loves it is because he can drink all day, be
away from his kids and gawk at that friendly cart girl with the epic rack.
He’ll never do a deep enough emotional dive to come to grips with the fact that
he actually hates the sport. He has no talent for it, so it’s slowly becoming
one more thing that makes him feel small. What he really wants to do is paint landscapes,
but fears the razzing he’ll get from his friends about how much a cock-gobbling
homo he is.
Apathetic is the best word to describe the way he feels about his
job as an outside sales rep for a large medical equipment company. But he endures
it. After all, it’s too late to change careers at this point, right? He’s
recently taken out a 2nd mortgage on his home and borrowed a sizable
chunk of money from his sister, unbeknownst to his wife. Not because times are
tight, but because of a few bad decisions involving penny stocks.
Still, he’s
obsessed with having the latest and greatest golf equipment. He loves the look
of pure covetous jealousy when he whips out his surrogate wang on that first
tee box. He always pushes to hit from the blacks, but is secretly bummed when
his friends acquiesce. After he throws on his pleated shorts, striped polo,
ankle socks and a visor, it feels downright criminal to wear normal running
shoes. It’s like he’s offending the great and powerful golf gods. Plus, he’s wants
to get close to his favorite player, a 22-year-old Aussie who’s as sharp on
Twitter as his is around the greens. There will be grassy knolls and uneven
terrain for him to contend with all day long. He’d hate to miss out on seeing
his hero. Or worse, spilling any of that sweet sweet hair of the dog.
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