So my friend called to tell me what went down at her house the other day. It was a friend, not me. I swear.
Her son was out in the back yard whacking a golf ball with a 9 iron. He’s actually pretty good. His family was surprised by his skills. His mother has a mean slice. His father? Well, you know.
15 minutes into the practicing, the dad picks up the 9 iron. The mom tells him that he should just whack it as hard as he can. The dad says that he probably shouldn’t since the neighbor’s house is just through the trees. The mom looks at the trees, at the dad, at the trees, at the dad. She calmly replies that dad should just whack that ball.
She has noticed the 4 inch break in the trees to the neighbor’s front yard where the neighbor has workers building something. She is sure the dad can’t possibly get “hit the green.”
With that, the dad whacks the ball. Through that 4 inch hole in the trees. Which is a friggin’ lucky shot, people. I’m just saying. The workers fall silent as the ball smacks into something that causes a loud pop.
The dad, the mom and the boy begin the low crawl to the front of the house. They find themselves covered in dirt as they creep through the grass. They can only hope that the workers still have their appendages, that no one saw the direction the ball came from and that nothing major was broken. Like the windshield to a Pious.
Uh, huh. Glad it didn’t happen to me.