Balls, revisited

All right, I'm kind of hard headed sometimes. Really. Very hard headed.

So when I had my first golf lesson, and I hated the whole experience, I got pissed. Really, truly pissed. It galled me, first of all, that every muscle in my body hurt the next day, just from whacking a little ball around a park. Yeah, the golf course looks like a park to me. I know it's unpopular to say that among golfing enthusiasts, but it's the truth. A park. Then, it pissed me off that I looked like such a nincompoop chasing said ball around grassy park. I know I looked like a fool. I could feel it.

So I hired a golf teacher. Is that what she's called? The feisty sixty-something woman who is going to teach me how to whack my balls with finesse?

Whatever you call her, Jane is my new best friend. :)