Galf

A rather peppy (and thus annoying) co-worker goaded me into joining a women’s team for the company golf outing, which is tomorrow. As I had not swung a golf club since the first Clinton administration, it was time for me to sharpen my skills. First, my co-workers and I hit the driving range.

Quickly, I realized that golf is a classy sport, and I am, well, NOT. The first time my co-worker, acting as instructor, told me to “choke up on the shaft,” I made a crass remark and then continued to repeat it for the duration of the time we were there (I don’t remember what it was, but it’s probably for the best). In fact, it is impossible for me to walk onto a golf course without thinking of 20 “that’s what she said” jokes associated with the game. Balls, holes, dogleg? That is comedy gold if you have the sense of humor of a 13-year-old boy, which I do.

At last year’s outing, someone legendarily got wasted and used an innuendo such as the above toward a female executive, which did not end well for anyone. For him, it resulted in him looking for a new job immediately. For the rest of us, we now have a very strict alcohol policy at company events. I have to imagine that this is a good thing. Hopefully, even sober, I will be able to behave a little bit better in front of co-workers who have corner offices.

I have seen improvement in my game over the past few weeks. For instance, this week, I shot a 72. FOR NINE HOLES. Also, my clubs fell off the back of the cart, which resulted in much hilarity for my passenger.

There’s a 10 dollar prize for last place. I’m thinking that is solidly in the bag for my team. Gotta have goals, right?

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