Most husbands would never admit to beating their wives, even if asked. Remember that old “gotcha” question to which there’s no good yes or no answer: “Have you stopped beating your wife?”
All you regular readers are already thinking, “Oh, he means at golf. Big deal.”
Well, on (rare) occasion I have shot a lower score than she did for one nine or the other, assuming we played an 18-hole round. But I can’t remember the last time I beat her for the entire 18 holes.
Well, actually I CAN remember the last time.
What? Who cares, you ask? Well I DO, for one!
Darn it, when we get paired up with other folks I get tired of being asked with a snicker after I dribble a tee shot, “Gee, does your husband play golf?”
So YES, it IS a BIG DEAL!
Huh? How badly did I beat her? There you go, getting anal retentive again, worrying about quantity and relative size. Why does the actual score matter? Mine was better! Winning is winning, whether by a large margin or a small one.
Does the winning thoroughbred get a bigger purse if the margin of victory is six lengths rather than a nose? No! Does the Olympic runner get a bigger gold medal if he wins by ten seconds than if by 1/100 of a second? No!
So what difference does it make? You still want to know?
OK. It was one stroke.
There! Are you happy now?
What? You want to know if she played well? Actually she played very badly for her, and I played above average for me.
SO WHAT?!!? I WON, ALL RIGHT?
What do you mean, "Did she LET me win!?"
Why would she do that?
Oh, because it's Fathers Day? And she loves me and wanted me to have a happy day? Well...
(If she did, it worked!)
P.S. The fawn was there again today, similar spot, looking very healthy and well-fed.
P.P.S. I really like a comment made by BILL the Marine on his blog from Iraq: "Any male can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a dad."
Amen, Bill. Semper Fi!