|Victory is my middle name.|
Anyway, last night I managed to work up enough motivation for Hubby and I to finally make it to the driving range to whack a few balls around. Hubby was delighted, he is consumed by golf during the spring/summer every year, and I am an enthusiastic spectator, and untalented participant.
Place: Les Bolstad Golf Course, driving range. My entire fam is in love with golf. Seester even played during high school and as a college athlete, and that talent somehow skipped me. But Hubs and I split a big bucket of practice balls, and I wiped the dust off my old *akaseesterscastoff* golf clubs.
Activity: Whacking away at bright yellow golf balls, sometimes successfully, mostly unsuccessfully. Golf is fantastic when you're good at it, and hellishly frustrating when you're not. So I attempted mostly to just hit the ball and get it to travel a good distance. Hubby says I did great. Hopefully he is being truthful and not just polite.
Cuteness: Next to us at the range a dad showed up with his 3-ish year old son, to first have a McDonald's picnic and then to hit some balls. Dad was trying to show Sonny how to swing a golf club, perhaps in the hopes of generating another TIGERTIGERWOODSY'ALL. Sonny was more interested in balancing all the balls on tees and generating running commentary on the size of his dad's feet. It was very adorable. Can't you see my Hubbles doing that in a yet-to-be-determined-amount of years, with a mini-Hubbles?