To Tee or Not to Tee

The tale of one Philadelphia golf widow

My husband wants me to take up golf. I only wish you could see the eye rolling that request invokes. Is there anything I want to do less? Hmmm … flog myself with tree branches, join a cult, sing Karaoke? That’s about it.

There’s a long history to this that began before we got married. Way back in those days my husband did not golf and assured me he never would. His father had been a golfer and he’d golfed a little while growing up and frankly, it didn’t interest him. At all, he said. I breathed a big sigh of relief. While I appreciate husbands and wives having different interests, golf is a time-consuming endeavor, and I had no plans of spending my marriage alone as a golf widow. I happily advised my then-future husband that should he ever make me a golf widow, I would likely move out and take everything. While he was golfing.[SIGNUP]

Many years (and hobbies) later, my husband discovered the new love of his life: golf. You’d think after so many years of marriage that I’d embrace things that get him out of the house, but my husband is not only really great to have at home, he does things around the house. He cooks dinner, harasses the child to practice piano, and feeds the dogs. I have to do things when he plays nine holes after work. I have to pour my own wine!

At first my mother and I had a good laugh about the new passion for golf. You see, my husband is a Gemini. Meaning he’s changeable to say the least. He’s had approximately 9,000 new passions since I’ve known him. There has been painting, cartooning, rock climbing, kayaking, starting web sites, writing and illustrating children’s books and even fencing, just to name a few. Each of these has been a full-on, all-systems-go passion. Until he gets bored and finds something more interesting. So it stood to reason when he announced he was taking up golf that surely (and blessedly) this too would pass. Only it hasn’t. We’re now into golf season three.

I even thought that starting golf at such a relatively late age would be a huge detriment and not being good at something would bore him. Unfortunately, I hear he’s not too bad. It figures, of course, because he’s good at everything. He’d be easy to hate if he wasn’t such a nice guy.

So here’s the real kicker: He claims to miss me while golfing. He wants me to join him so we can spend time together while he does what he loves. We did golf together once years ago with some friends, just for fun. Back then, my rookie husband made the enormous mistake of trying to tell me what to do. I almost Elin Woods-d him—yes, it’s a verb. We never golfed together again.

If I took it up now there would have to be professional golf lessons so I could keep up. He’d have to assure me there would be no lectures on golf etiquette—the not talking part is really hard for me. And he wouldn’t be allowed to tell me what to do. The upside is that this is a sport that encourages cocktails while playing—there’s definitely some appeal to that. It would be nice to have a pastime we enjoy together. I have this rosy image of us in our whites, golfing together in our golden years. And then I remember that even if I learn how to play, with the hideous uphill battle this game entails, I then have to spend hours at a stretch following a white ball around. Ugh. Can’t we just lawn bowl? Here’s hoping for hobby number 9001!