That would yesterday when Honey lost his golf glove. The way he carried on, Sheesh! He emptied out the garage and turned his golf bag upside down for a shake. Man, you would have thought it was a needed prosthetic. I mean, he could play the game right? He still had his custom clubs. (I mention this – because it’s okay for him to buy CUSTOM clubs, but when I come home with one measly pair of shoes that cost more than a hundred bucks he freaks) *insert shaking head here* He still had his balls – more actually, because he had the nerve to blame me for this. And, he had his tees. I know this because I continue to pull them out of the drain holes in my washing machine on a regular basis. So, why all the fuss?
WELL, according to Honey this was his lucky glove. I had to think about that for a minute because I can’t remember a time that he hasn’t come home from the course complaining about how he played. So, um, lucky? I’m not thinking so.
But why argue when I can just wait, bide my time, distract myself with something else until the garage is spotless, his bag is reorganized and the laundry is folded. I’m in no hurry it’s not like I’m scheduled on the course or anything. So, when he’s done pulling out his hair and doing all my chores for the day it’s then that I ask him if he looked in the trunk of the car as it might have fallen out of his bag the last time he went golfing.
I know. Sheer brilliance, right? He pops out to the car and wow, the earth is moving again. The lucky glove has been found! Imagine that? Who would have thought?
Who you may ask? Well, that would be me. And why? Easy. I saw it in there when I loaded the expensive shoes I’d bought, (and he bitched about) into said trunk. Hmm… Moral of the story? Don’t come between a woman and her shoes unless you want to be kicked with them or in this case? Run-a-round by them.