I went golfing this weekend and got burnt. The back of my legs are as red as a tomato and they hurt. I shot a 99 and proved that the reason I sucked so bad last year was because of my Wal-Mart clubs (yeah right).
Eeyore, Yankee-Doodle and I played 18 holes at the club we joined this year. It was a bright sunny day and the beer was flowing. We got to the 18th tee off and in usual JIM fashion I decided to go for the green on a par 5. I brandished my mighty driver and teed the ball up high. I brought the club back and with a mighty grunt brought the club down on the ball. Contact!
I barely got to watch the trajectory of my ball because al I made contact a strange thing happened. Something flew out in front of me just as I was into my follow through. The button from my
The sad part is that the drive wasn't even that impressive; at least not button popping impressive. We had a good laugh as I waddled down the 550 yard fairway trying to keep my clubs, beer and shorts off the ground. Eeyore didn't even offer to let me borrow his belt for some extra support (go fig). I wouldn't have either.
Back at the 19th hole Eeyore's treachery continued as he "accidentally" added 20 strokes to Yankee Doodle's score. Sad part is; poor bugger never even questioned it until a quick glance at the scorecard showed that 140 was a bit excessive.
Fun time for sure, later that night we played a battle of the sexes game of trivial pursuit, where the men defeated the women (twice) and the smell of defeat hung heavy in the air... Or something did anyway.
The next morning it took me an hour before I could walk properly, because the skin on the back of my legs had shrunken and the feeling of burnt stretching skin made me want to stay seated all day.
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