Heat. 90 degree days. It's hot and humid. I'm like a delicate flower wilting in the harsh sun. I don't do well in heat at all. You want to torture me, just put me in the sun with no means of jumping into cool water. It's not pretty. My nose is the first to go...Rudolf has nothing on me. Those darn freckles come out to play. People look at me and say, "I didn't know you had freckles," and "Are you OK? You don't look so good." "NO, I'M NOT OK!!" I say with a tone that leaves them with fear!  "Haven't you ever seen FRECKLES before! Jeesh!"

Sooner than latter, you will find me in some hidden away cool, dark place with my head in an icechest. I must have been a frog in a former life.

I'm very pale.  You could take one look at me and know I'm the princess of marshmallow land. You will never find me (just for the color of it) tanning myself. Nope. I walk proudly down the beach with 100+++  sunscreen on my pale body and a BIG floppy hat. When everybody else starts coming in from frolicking all day at the beach, I'm just getting started. Sand pail, beach tote in hand, I start my beach day with the sun kissing the dusky horizon goodbye. That's not to say I won't play out in the sun.  I will as long as I can be in the water.

So everybody who knows me, knows better than to ask me to the summer picnic in full sun over hot barbecue grill, unless they have some portable A/C unit set up in a tent.

So why, why would they ask me to go golfing?!?! "You do NOT want the client to see me like this," I warned them, I did. "I've never golfed", I said "don't know how.  You might as well give me a Foosball and set me lose on the Foosball field. I'd have a better chance at getting a touchdown then being able to golf." I can't even golf in a video game. But to my dismay it was a firm "YOU'LL BE THERE!" "OK, but you'll be sorry" while walking out of his office with the confidence of 25-plus years of knowing the consequences of putting me in the hot sun all day, and not having a clue about golfing. After asking around, I learned that I would be outside for 4 to 5 hours. Joy!...yeah it was going to be fun.  (This is where you insert a picture of the witch from Wizard of Oz...melting, I'm melting...ahhhg!)

To my delight, The Sun Gods took the day off, and I survived the golfing trauma. It was not too bad.  Rain loomed in the air, while I prayed for a violent storm (only after I found one of those brick buildings for shelter).  It didn't storm, but the air was breezy and the lack of sun made for an OK day.  In retrospect, I would have preferred life-threatening lightning over hot muggy heat.

What I like about golfing:

Number 1:  All the food they feed you before your day in the hot sun. First it's an elaborate lunch that's fit for any hungry beast (me) to the sounds of a speaker that no one listens to..lol. 

Then not to be outdone, after all that sun, dinner is ushered in. An all-out foodie feast served Hawaiian Lu-Ow style. (I was told we were lucky; it's usually Mexican.)  They give out prizes and awards, but I don't care, I'm too busy stuffing my face. I won 'Best For Trying' award, to cheers and laughter. I wasn't a bit upset about it, 'cause I had half the desert table in my bag.

FYI, never stuff those little fruit tarts in your bag.  Messy-messy-messy....Yeah, don't do that.

Number 2:  The prizes.  Here's what I won:  Callaway golfballs...with Hex Pattern - Simulates True Ball Flight! - 12 Soft-Flite Balls.  I see, they're soft like foam, ya think they're trying to tell me something.........

..."It's that pale girl up to swing".....Incoming!.....Duck!....TAKE COVER!!!......No it's OK, we gave her soft golfballs!

 And I also won a little portable fishing kit. Sure, like, I'd go fishing in the hot sun instead of golfing.  That's going in the garbage.  (Some things are too crappy to bring to the Salvation Army.)

Number 3:  Those cute little balls. I love whacking them as I try to hit the sun. I don't really care where they end up, just love the feeling of sending those little balls flying through the air. And I always hit my target....trees...carts...those outhouses....someone else's green.....people. . .

I could have sworn that NES dog came from behind the bushes to laugh at me.

Number 4:  I like wearing those cute little skirts, too...but not those funny looking shoes.

....I know why men golf!  First you walk (hah, "walk," more like drive with out rules) 5 hours chasing a tiny ball.  You get yourself dehydratedly, (not a real word) thin so you can drink more.  Have a bit of fun washing the balls to the unavoidable humor of others....Yuk. Yuk, and help aerate the grass with those funny shoes. Then you can challenge God and lightning by sticking a long metal pole into the heavens above. And ALL THE FOOD! …Oh, and the free beer for the manly folk....

Number 5:  (This is the best.) When I get my hands on one of those carts! Let's just say it's an all-out blast. I drive that thing like I'm in a Mario Kart game, to the wonderful fear-ridden faces of my colleagues. Josh turns to me and says,"Why...why?! You're always so shy, quiet, calm, and sweet?!?" I say, "I'm bored" = ) With an evil grin, I took off again, while they scream like little school girls with ants in their goofy golf pants. Let's just say I don't think they'll ever ask me to go golfing again. Zooom!!!....Zooom!!!.......

 

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some balls to hit. . .golfballs silly.