Silly Poons, Golf is for Girls

Chocolate Moda. Yum! And I’m taking about my new golf clubs, which is funny because as a child I always thought of golf as an old man’s sport. Then I entered the corporate world and learned that golf is the powerhouse sport (and the anti-sport sport–it goes against all my natural instincts and yet I'm best when I'm not concentrating on the 50 billion left foot planted, straight back, locked arm, immobile head rules).

According to the heads of my office, and the many random PR people I conversed with, golf is the one sport I should play. I shook my head for months and continued to push volleyball. I worked with some tall athletic guys and just knew we’d have a killer co-ed team, or at least I could groom one of them for an outdoor partner this summer. Turns out they thought grass while I thought sand. So I caved. Don’t hate me, it was four against one.

It also helped that the new clubs I got are gorgeous, or pretty as the boys say. If only my swing were pretty too. I’m working on it. With the tips from the office crew (seriously they had me practice my stance everyday and after a month or two of that I was verbally taught how to swing) I was well on my way to being a wreck on the course. Actually they were helpful so when the Poons stepped in I was on prodigy level.

The Poons are a group of SLC boys who grew up together. My older brother was inducted because of his mad basketball skills and blood relations. Who knew that it would benefit me throughout my stay in Utah. A couple days ago one of the Poons called about his sweatshirt I’ve been storing for the past few months. Deciding we should get together he asked me if I golfed. No….but yes! I told him I was reading golf for dummies but would love to hit some balls. We met at the driving range and he was blown away with the speed at which I learned. I didn’t have the heart to tell him about my office coaching. So there he was thinking I’m a prodigy and he’s the world’s greatest natural coach.

Or I was thinking that for him and he was drooling over my clubs. It’s a response I’m accustomed to. Every boy has admired them. Creeping up for a closer look and shyly asking if they can hit with my clubs, because “they’re just so cute!” And I thought I was the girl. Go ahead boys hit away, but I get to take them home.