As I mentioned, I tagged along the next day to the golf course with Dad and Mr W.
Because, you know, a couple of hours hitting the ball the night before was sufficient enough, experience wise, for me to be able to maneuver the course.
Keep in mind, this was my first time on a golf course. I'd never gone along to watch anyone, I'd never spent any time as a teenager fooling around on one, it was a completely new experience for me.
Yup. Total golf virgin.
I mentioned this, to my FIL, thinking this might make him more apt to explain what was up to me, but he didn't.
Maybe he didn't believe me. (Do they ever believe it's your first time??)
At any rate, once we approached the point we were starting at, which, I think, was hole 9, I sat back in awe. The course, mind you, was lovely. Woods all around, just breathtaking. But that's not the reason I was floored.
You see, at this point, I was still thinking I was going to play along.
Right up until I realized, where is the green, smooth grass with the hole? What are we doing up here? What are those markers in the grass for?
Mr W stepped up and then I picked up on what was happening.
Oh, no way.
Reality check to the lady in the golf cart. Someone, hand her a camera and a drink, that's all she's gonna be capable of today.
I could hear the golf gods laughing at me. Hooting, in fact. I decided I'd just enjoy the morning, and spare myself the embarrassment.
On we went, I watched where the balls landed like a good girl, helped hunt them down, and took pictures.
I even drove the cart...but only once.
Come on. Driving is driving. How the heck was I supposed to know about the fickleness of the parking brakes on those things? I think Mr W snickered himself into a charley horse on that one.
It was either that or the jog he took to catch my rolling cart.
By the time we were at the 12th hole, I felt braver. The laughter of the golf gods had subsided. We were alone, so the chance of me hitting some unsuspecting person I was not related to were slim. I decided to try it.
Swing--and a miss.
Swing--and a large clod of turf flies up in the air with the greatest of ease. Owwwch. My wrist, taking the force of the smack into the ground, hurt like a motherf--whoops. In the South, I try to refrain from cursing like a sailor. Owwwch, y'all.
Swing--and she connects. For a whopping two yards. Sah-wing, batter...wrong sport, I know. But you get the picture.
"Here you go," I hand Mr W the club. "I'm done."
However, they kept at it, even when things turned ugly and I thought they'd quit. They even went so far as to pick up a hole we missed and replay the one we'd just finished (a hole that was not pretty the first time around).
Dad played way beyond his level of endurance. Mr W played way beyond his level of patience.
All this led to the biggest lesson of all, at least for me.
Golf takes time. Whether you are playing on the course or just learning. You have to do it, a lot, if you are going to be any good at it, even if it's aggravating as hell.
Which is true of a lot of things, isn't it?