Some of you may be aware that I have only recently taken up golf.

With my 50th looming a little over a month away, I figured it was time to join the white-trouser brigade, shine up a pair of second hand clubs and hop on the golf-cart. In America, this is kind of standard procedure for Ladies of My Age.

I have avoided it for years, in part because I have little if any athletic ability (except for skiing), and also because an LPGA inspired wardrobe has never – EVER – appealed to this frou frou miss in her sparkly shoes and stretchy tops. (Buttons and beltloops are the bane of my existence!)

However, having recently purchased a golf membership for HH in honor of our 30th anniversary, we have looked at this as an opportunity to spend a little QT together. I played my first 18 holes a couple weeks ago, and am amazed to admit that I LOVED IT! It didn’t seem to matter that my swing was all over the road and I left more divots in the course than your average colony of groundhogs. On those rare occasions when I heard the “ting” of a good hit, it was enough to sustain me through the 85% of rubbish shots and missed swings. I can’t explain it.

So, yes. Curvy me has had to suck it up and invest in a golf wardrobe, can you believe?

I had my first lesson last week with the younger of our 2 available golf pros, in spite of HH’s insistance that the older dude would be better for me. He has some whizzy whiz-gig computer program designed to “correct my swing.” I reasoned that since I don’t actually HAVE a proper swing, there is nothing to correct… and so I went with the young guy. The young, good looking guy, roughly my son’s age.

To which HH continues to object.

I don’t get it… Within 10 minutes of my first lesson, I was – yes, ladies and gentlemen – ACTUALLY HITTING THE BALL. (If you’ve ever played golf or gone to the driving range, you will know how exciting these first successful swings are!) My instructor is a miracle worker! Drop the shoulder, head behind the ball, change the grip… keep sternum midline… Who needs a computer program? And, for the record, does it matter that he’s young and good looking?

HH is not convinced. He rolled his eyes when I mentioned my second lesson was coming up. “You need to switch to the other guy,” he says. The old guy. 

Men. Honestly. As if! This Mother Hen is NO cougar! (Because that is just gross…)

Lesson #2 is coming up next week… with the young guy.

Mother Hen

• feature photo: Shutterstock
• cartoon: teetimes.info

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