We’re a mini-golf family.
We love playing mini-golf.
Okay, we love the “idea” of playing mini-golf.
Because when it comes to actually playing mini-golf, we start out like the Brady Bunch, singing songs, laughing about our errors, making some Sunshine Day memories.
By by the last hole, we are practically tossing our golf clubs at the person manning the booth, saying “Thank God that’s over. Never again.”
And, truth be told, it’s not the kids.
It’s Real Man and I.
But, our methods of destroying the fun of mini-golf differ greatly.
By the time we get to the third hole, someone has already gotten a 5, and I am excluding Tiny from this conversation, because his are all 17’s that we’ve turned into 5’s on the score card to be merciful.
As soon as someone gets frustrated with their score, Real Man swoops in and begins to “teach” them how to play.
“Hold the club like this.”
“If you line it up this way.”
“No, don’t rush…take your time and really aim your shot.”
And it’s nice, and the kids improve a little.
But when we get to the sixth hole and he’s still doing it, I start to panic.
Because by this time, the people who were two holes behind us are now waiting for us to finish each hole.
And, while I don’t mind waiting for the people in front of me, I don’t want to be the person that makes other people wait.
So, I start with my tactics.
“Monkey Girl…go ahead and start the next hole.”
“Monkey in the Middle…just tap yours in and go with Monkey Girl.”
“Yes, yes, Tiny…just pick up your ball. It’s gonna take you five minutes to push your ball into the hole that way.”
By the time it is Real Man’s turn at hole 16, I’ve already pushed everyone else on to hole 18 and the poor guy is left all alone, and then when he catches up, we yell our scores at him for the last two holes as we run to the next hole…so no one has to wait for us.
Mid-course, we come together again for the “cool” hole.
And then we all golf together, in solidarity, because of this:
But then it starts again.
And when we finally get to hole 18, which is the awesome hole where if you get a hole in one, you win a free game, I’m saying things like “Wow! You almost got it!” out loud, but in my head I’m thinking, “If one of them wins that free game, I’m going to shoot myself.”
We get in the car and tally the scores, although they are all almost always the same.
Real Man always wins by a lot.
Probably because he is taking his time, lining up his shot, and imagining the ball going into the hole.
The next four are a crap shoot, depending on who was able to actually make the shots with their mother hurrying them along, and then Tiny rounds out the herd, yelling things like “72! That’s such a great number! I winned with 72!”
And I sigh and think “Never again.”
Until the next time.