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I have a fabulous sense of direction. I sense the right direction, and I go the other way. After 20 years together, my husband still asks me which way to turn. I still answer. Who’s the idiot in this equation?
Add four days of no sleep, a death cold, 12 hours of being held hostage by United Airlines, and it’s no wonder I took the Long Term Parking Shuttle Bus (the right bus) to the wrong stop, where I promptly exited, in the blue-black night, realized my error, and waited for the next bus to come along so I could ride it to the correct stop.
No biggie. I’ve done 4,999 dumber things. Most of them earlier that day.
Bus # 2 pulls up. The driver does not open the door. Instead he makes hand gestures at me. I make the blank face of a woman about to cut a man. He makes the hand gestures again. He is either trying to tell me he’s going to snap my ass in half or he’s going on a break. Either way, I don’t give a shit. He finally reads my mind, and I board the bus, exiting 3 stops later, where I meant to get off in the first place.
This is why it takes me twice as long to get places. Sometimes. Much like my golf game, I’m highly inconsistent. I may drive it off the tee like the next white suburban housewife Tiger Woods, and my next swing, I’ll miss that little white dimpled fucker of a ball entirely, dislocating my shoulder in the process, which is why I keep score using something I call “The Essence of The Hole.” If I feel like I got the ball into the hole in 5 strokes (even if it took me 25 and a couple of martinis), I call it a 5. It’s not like I’m hitting The Tour any time soon, so kiss my ass.
Quite frankly, my favorite round of golf is spent riding along in the cart while my husband plays, I have a cocktail or 3, and a good book to read. That’s 4+ hours of relatively uninterrupted reading time, catered drinks, a date with my husband, and fresh air (which is the same thing as exercise, last time I checked). I throw my clubs on the back of the cart and wear some golf attire, just to make it look good. Even with the green fees, it’s a pretty cheap date when you break it down to an hourly rate, which if my husband had to hire a hooker for that kind of timeframe…it’s a downright bargain. Plus, I’m literate. I even bring my own book as proof.