Tensions around the household have eased a bit since yesterday’s posting about the errant golf cart. I hesitated to show Carol what I had written for fear that her view of those events might have been a tad less humorous than mine.
The lost wristwatch has been replaced. The drowned cell phone was partially resuscitated, but seemed to have suffered some permanent brain damage. Several functions either did not work at all, or worked differently from before. As of this afternoon, she is sporting a new, upgraded cell phone.
The clubs and bag are clean and dry. The only remaining concern is the cart’s lingering lack of response to remote control input. We’re hopeful that additional drying will correct that problem. Lacking that, I’ll attempt surgery and cleaning with electronics parts cleaner spray. If that fails, I’ll order and install a new remote guidance system.
Money cures many ills.
Anyway, I was able to comment this afternoon that her golf gear looked really spiffy, having undergone a mud-pack beauty treatment and subsequent deep cleansing. I received a wry grin instead of a hateful glare.
I’ve related the tale (the term “water hazard” has a whole new meaning) to friends at work, and am beginning to hear the inevitable remarks about “women drivers of golf carts,” and, “Boy, she must have hit a REALLY bad shot. I’ve heard of people throwing their clubs in a lake, but never with the $1,600 cart attached!”
By the time the remote control function is back to normal we’ll both be joking about the incident.
But for now I’ll keep those comments from my work friends to myself.