I’ve never understood the attraction men have for balls. Note I didn’t say their balls. But just balls in general. Ok, their balls will come in to it (no pun intended) but for now we’ll stick with the sports reference. One sport in particular reigns supreme in my home and it uses the smallest balls of all – golf. My husband loves to golf. Loves to watch it. Read about it. Discuss it. I’m sure there is golf porn out there somewhere and he’d probably watch it. Me ? I’d rather watch paint dry with my eyelids propped open a la Clockwork Orange. Which is, coincidently, my husbands’ favorite move next to One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Can’t say I enjoy either of those but then again he also watches The Simpsons. But for the preservation of my marriage I am taking an interest. Not in weird movies or bad TV, but in balls.
I find little white balls in the garden. I find little white balls in the laundry room. I find them on the dishwasher. I find them in the car. Little balls are like rabbits or cockroaches to me. They multiply like crazy and will never die. I’ve even made golf cakes for my hubby:
Luckily he also really enjoys sunflowers so we have a little something in common. As I got it tattooed on my leg, he better not change flowers any time soon. The cakes turned out much nicer and I will digress from balls to share them with you:
This one was a joke cake as I had to make a cake for someone else on his birthday and he got a bit ripped off. He got to eat the whole thing so I don’t think he suffered too much.
Now you want to talk suffering and love ? Here’s what 1 1/2 hours in a tattoo chair will get you:
I have to admit that when I reflect upon the discomfort of demonstrating the love I have for my family on my skin, golf might have been an easier choice. But at least this way my kids get in on it too as its their initials in the leaves and I’m the bee. Win, Win I’d say and my daughter LOVES asking me to show her friends how she’s on my leg. We are a bit of a weird family.
Back to balls.
Part of what prompted my interest in balls, and golf in particular, is that my husband and I both come from families where the husbands played golf and the wives didn’t and the husband dropped the ball. Figuratively and literally. To prevent my husband from thinking about putting his driver in someone else’s golf bag, I’ve decided to compromise. We’ll go golfing. Together. And I will keep my eyes open and watch. From the safety of the golf cart. Last time I tried to golf, the people behind me must have seen the bullseye I forgot to take off because two balls almost clocked me in the head. I knew I hated those little white balls for a good reason. Little dimpled assassins is what they are.
In a stroke of sheer genius I offered to golf with my husband as long as I don’t have to play and I can drive the cart. To his credit, he laughed at first but when the genius of the plan illuminated his brain he had his hallelujah moment and jumped on board the golf cart with me. He gets to play. We get to spend time together with his balls. I get dinner out after. Win, Win again. Why women don’t rule more of the world is a mystery to me. Our powers of influence, creativity and negotiation appear to be limitless and astoundingly effective.
I happened to catch the tale end of an interview between David Feherty (Irish golf commentator with a wicked slice of humor) and Charles Barkley that my husband was watching. One of the few times I let go of the remote. The show was amusing enough to me to go out and by Feherty’s latest book which of course is about golf. I just about blew frappachino out my nose in the middle of Chapters it was so funny. He also references the older masters of the game whom I know from when my dad littered the house with his balls. David Feherty might be one of the reasons I start to watch golf or at least golf related programs. I don’t know the state of his balls but any man who refers to his wife as She Who Must Be Obeyed is good people in my books. I now read little quips to my husband but I make sure he is done drinking first.
So one day soon, my husband and I are going golfing. It might not be golf in the conventional sense of the game but isn’t marriage all about compromise ? The Husband Who Usually Obeys gets to chase balls as his adoring wife cheers from the cushy cart. She Who Must Be Obeyed gets a night out with the hubby and gets to drive the neat little cart. The children get to have loving, caring parents who show an interest in one another and demonstrate what you try to do in a marriage. If I happen to learn something along the way about the game that has captured my husband’s interest, then I’ll be all the wiser for it. If all we get out of it is time together, then that’s an even bigger bonus. Win, Win all around again. Amazing what you can accomplish when you just take an interest in a man’s balls.