recovery

The Subourbon Family is headed to Augusta [cue banjo music]. Husband M grew up on a golf course but has never been to Augusta National, so this will be some kind of golfgasm for him. His beautiful bride has never been to a major tournament, but has managed to drink her way through the beer tents of many minor ones. I always say that golf tournaments are loads of fun, except for all the golf. (Silence is not really a virtue of mine.) Now that I’m on the wagon, maybe I’ll actually watch some of the action, instead of creating it. (“Well, hon, you know the fastest way to the 19th hole is to buy me another drink!” HAHAHAHA snort!)

Being from a state where Auburn is our, ahem, 2nd best team, I am a football fan myself. I am aware that we have other sports there, because my college boyfriend once made me go to the LSU basketball game because “this Shaq guy is going to be huge one day.” The only other sport that could possibly compete with football over there is hunting, and then only because the season is longer.

I managed to marry into a golf and basketball family (from NC), and my husband has never fired a gun nor hit another person – despite my constant threats that he will kick your ass – and he isn’t even a football fan (unless you count the ACC as football, which I hear some folks do). Well, that’s not really true anymore. During football season, you can now hear him cheering for “Bama”, as only a person who didn’t attend Alabama will tend to do. (I’m just telling y’all this so you don’t look like tourists in front of your Southern friends.) Since meeting me however, he has been fishing on several occasions, and has even caught some throw-back stuff that we all made a big deal about. Fishing (deep sea, not bass) is actually a favorite hobby of mine, if you don’t count the part about baiting the line, watching said line, and reeling in whatever is flipping about on the end of it. I’m more into the flirting with cute mates (“Wow, you’re really good at that. Would you call yourself a master baiter?”) and sunning myself in a deck chair.

But I have to hand it to the in-laws – they are some good golfers. When we were first dating, I volunteered to keep the scorecards for M & his dad, only to have to pull M aside to help me with my math since his dad’s numbers didn’t even add to 70. “That’s right,” he told me. WHAAAAA? That means the old man could smack around you, me, and probably everybody we know. And, although he rarely plays due to the high demands of his wife and daughter, M is a pretty good golfer himself. This gives me hope, because maybe little G will inherit some of her daddy’s athletic genes. Unfortunately, she has already proven that she got some of them from me – we practiced on her tricycle again today for the big Trike-a-thon on Friday and it appears that we should just fake a tummy ache that day.

In any case, GO GOLFERS! GO BRAVES! GO SHOPPING! And have a fun day!