Mother and Father always encouraged me to be a better golfer. I took lessons at the club, of course, and I reviewed the contents of each lesson with Father after dinner. Mother insisted that I wear skirts in cheerful—yet appropriate—hues, and she braided my hair before each practice, pulling the strands tighter each time. With religious zeal, they believed in precision.
Sometimes after practice, when I would put my bag into the trunk of Mother’s car, the clubs would begin to hiss. Only I could hear them as they told me where to strike to instill the most damage.
Great story, Sarah. Killed it with that last line.
My clubs never hissed at me. Guess they knew I’d never make a good golfer. And I didn’t. Very humorous story, Sarah!