Three of us golfed last night, extending the string of not every one being at golf to the whole golf season so far. We’re hoping to get all four there sometime. Luckily all four convened at the Fox and Hound.
It was hot. At least one member of our intrepid group thought it wasn’t that bad. And it might not have been, had there been any wind. And less humidity. And lower temperatures.
The self-described pouting came from Liz, who was irritated by golf balls that kept going into the creek. (Three at last count.)
Not everyone played every hole. Carol missed the first two. Liz opted out of one because she was pouting. Bonnie also skipped one.
There was discussion of starting the pratice of personal pars. Carol, for instance, may never get a par. But she can get a four.
The Fox and Hound was loud. Really loud. Eardrum hurting loud. Waitresses had skimpy outfits. Odd-tasting drinks.
Pouting, perspiring, and personal pars. A perfectly profound party!