Let the Flogging Begin

With the promise of the spring season comes the anticipation of birds singing, daffodils blooming, and the game of GOLF.

Gimme a G...O...L...F. Whatta ya got?

FLOG. That's golf spelled backwards and that's what occurs when I play the game. I flog myself with a stick for 18 holes. And boy does it hurt. YOUCH.

Each spring season I am excited about the game...as are most golfers. I'm always hopeful that during the winter a fairy magically granted me golf skills...and turned me into a decent, respectable player. Instead of granting me the usual magically delicious Lucky Charms.

Anywhooooooooo................

When I first get out for the season, I actually play well. Everything is par for the course (just an expression. I'm not that accurate.) The sun is shining...the course is pretty...and I'm out with friends. What could be more fun than playing golf with my peeps on a nice sunny day? Well...maybe drinking wine with my peeps...any day.

I even manage to drive the ball in the fairway...make some good chips...and a few good putts. That's exactly when I start thinking "I got game." And my friends start thinking it too. The bubbles over their heads say, "Yes! The fairy golf god finally visited Kat. Woo Hoo."

Unfortunately just as my peeps start thinking there is hope for my game...my game turns to flogging. That's when reality shits. I mean, hits. P.U. My game stinks.

It only takes a few rounds before I realize I'm STILL the hack golfer that I was last season.

So after another specialty Kat trick shot...one where my ball bounces off two trees and then lands back at my feet...I notice them rubbing their noses. I knew it ...my peeps think I stink too.

Ahhh Spring. Anticipation of another flogging season.