You can't feel good
Shooting twenty over par
In miniature golf.
Last night, to put a fun cap on Mother's Day, the family clan got together and played eighteen holes of mini-golf. It was a pleasant excursion, although it only reminded me of two things:
1) I can't putt. Well, that's not totally true. I can putt. I just can't do it in a straight line. Nor can I judge how hard or soft to hit the ball. Each approach involves me eyeing up the hole, getting into proper putting stance, closing my eyes and hoping that when I open them back up, my ball will be near the hole. Or at least on the green. Or not in the water. Please don't let it be in the water...
2) Every person has a breaking point in mini-golf. It usually hits around hole #10 or 11. The absurdity of attempting to hit the ball into a little hole through a course riddled with obstacles butts head against a loose grasp on geometry and physics and, before you know it, you're throwing your club at the little children running through the course. We all know it's coming, and yet, when offered the chance to go mini-golfing, we all lie to ourselves, saying "This time I'll keep a level head. I'll putt well, finish a few over par, and, while laying in bed that night, dream of the delightful time I had." Then, hole #14 hits and you're being tackled by maintenance men as you threaten to poop into the sand trap like a gigantic kitty cat. Don't shake your head: it happens to all of us. You know that much is true.
That's why there's always a bench or two mid-way through the course - so on-lookers can sit and watch the melt-downs in comfort.
Even though I was reminded of those two items, it was still nice to get out in the lovely weather and spend some time with the family. It almost makes the bruises worth it.
Speaking of bruises, the Skirt Turtles are playing again at the Nokomis Fields (at 50th and Cedar) at 6 pm (field #7!) Last time I played, I scraped my knee up so much that it impressed the tough-skinned waitress at Matt's Tavern. Tonight, I'm going to try and not slide. Will I be successful in saving my skin, or will my heart lead me to another epidermis-destroying play? You'll have to come by to find out (or wait until tomorrow's blog. It's your choice, really.)
Anywho, I should be off. Today is a day of action and adventure. Well, writing action and adventure. My tales are those of the imagination. Before I depart, here's Today's Joke:
Bank robber in Hastings leaves jacket, dye stained cash behind
A bank robber in Hastings got the cash, but he didn't get far before a dye pack exploded and he dropped the money and his windbreaker as he got in a vehicle and fled, the Minneapolis FBI said.
Authorities are still looking for the suspect who held up the TCF Bank at 1729 Market Blvd. around 11:15 a.m. Friday and left in a late model black Toyota sedan driven by an accomplice, said Special Agent Paul McCabe.
The robber is described as a black man in his late 20s, between 5 feet 4 inches and 5 feet 6 inches, with a medium build, dark complexion and goatee.
The suspect is also jacket-less, which should make him very easy to spot come next December.
"We're just holding out until the temps drop," said one FBI agent. "We always get our man, even if it takes eight or nine months."
Psst! It's totally acceptable to pronounce "miniature" with three syllables instead of four.