The alumni association for the high school I attended (and a significant fraction of my family dedicated their lives to) held a golf outing today. Despite years of evidence supporting the theory that I should never be allowed to swing a golf club, I played in a foursome with my dad and two brothers. Believe it or not, we hit the best round the four of us have ever played as a group, and only came in last by a miraculous 3 strokes.
No, seriously, we usually lose by 10+. Golf is not my strongest suit.
Regardless, no matter how we fared, you know I rolled up in thematically appropriate socks. In fact, I was rocking a blue shirt, green socks with a golf print, and black Nikes. Sure, that’s sounds like an awful combination, but I’m thinking the socks were hella good luck.
At the end of day, though, it doesn’t matter what the cards said, or whether or not we spent more time in the tall rough than the fairway grass, I’m pretty damn sure I know exactly who bested the course this afternoon.
Puddintopia 