Golfer.

I decided to play golf because I wanted boyfriend with one T to think I was so cool that he would immediately explode with obsessive love and make himself husband with one T.

He was moderately excited when I wanted to learn. Kind of in a "meh" kind of way. He only gets one day off a week and that day off was usually spent playing wacking a little white ball with a big expensive stick. I wanted that day off to be spent in a different activity involving those two things, so I intervened.



Teach me, oh wise hot Boyfriend that I want to move in with.

Okay, moderately attractive and slightly needy Girlfriend, but you cannot get frustrated.



It's not that I get frustrated a lot; I just want to rock the shit out of any activity I attempt....


 And I want to look good doing it. First step to that is new golfy clothes. I bought new golf capris and some preppy little tank tops with collars and breathable necks. And pink golf shoes. My Dad had assured me that it would knock a few strokes off my game. My game I hadn't even started yet.

Mat and I started at the driving range. He made me do some annoying stretches and warm ups first. He also kept TALKING. "Keep your head down. All that's important now is contact. Contact. If you hit the ball we're making progress. Think about your stance, but don't think about it too much. Stop thinking. Your movements need to be fluid. Mary, Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, get up there and hit it."

I know a lot of girls miss it the first time they swing. But a lot of girls don't have the natural athleticism that I was inherited with. I knocked that ball at least 120 yards and was about to celebrate when it took a dramatic swing to the right, into some trees.

What the hell?

Mat started to tell me that was normal, but I wasn't about to take anymore direction for the moment. I just kept slamming those balls, one after the other after the other and all of them were going into the trees.

So I started aiming to the left. Then my balls would go straight. Take that, Jesus.

We played our first course together one afternoon. It was a 9 hole course in OKC called Jimmy Stewart. It's pretty easy and flat so he thought it would be a good start for me. The first hole is a par 3. For those that aren't awesome, ideally you should drive the green and putt the ball in for a birdy. As a female with emotions and no upper body strength, my only chance of ever getting a birdy is on a par 3. I hit the ball with what felt like supermodel fluidity and it flew and landed, about 9 feet from the pin.

Mat stood there with his eyes wide open. He opened his mouth to speak the words I thought would be "Will you marry me and bear my heir" but it was more like "WHAT. THE. FUCK"

Mary: What? Was that good?

Mat: You're gonna get par. On your first hole ever. You have no idea how ridiculous that is. And how hot it makes you right now.

I giggled and threw myself around him. This was so damn easy! I was like that Natalie Golfer chick, but with a rack and a real job.

I did get a par on the hole. I also didn't get any other pars on the entire course. I didn't have any bogies either. I think I squeezed a double bogie or two. Those were not gonna get a ring on it, or get me any sponsors.

I began playing with Mat every Sunday morning with his brother, at approximately 4am. Maybe not that early, but never before 7:50. Heaven forbid. Cuteness became the last thing on my mind. All I wanted to do was hit the ball straight. Hit it straight. It was fun sometimes. But most of the time it was me crying.

When we played Fairfax, I was playing particularly bad. Mat was in a great mood and kept trying to keep me fun by giving me hot dogs and compliments. I took my 2nd drive on a par 5 and he grabbed me from behind. "That was a great shot, Baby! You landed that right on the green! Oh my god you're gonna be like 8 or 9 feet, you're gonna get a birdie or AT LEAST a par! That should cheer you up right there!"

I was smiling like a toddler at Elmo Live and bouncing on the seat on the golf cart on the way to my beautiful shot. I smiled at Mat and he smiled at me and everything was perfect. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life golfing professionally with a rich husband and a bunch of hot little kids.

We pulled up to the green. Where was my ball. WHERE WAS MY BALL? Mat had found his and was making some selfish practice swings for his chip, when he should of been taking pictures of my ball and mentally preparing for his proposal.

Mary: Where's my ball?

Mat: What? I'm too busy looking at my own ball.

Mary: Where is my ball? You said it was on the green.

Mat: I thought it landed on the back. Hmm. Weird. Hey, Aaron you think this guy slopes to the left a little?

Mary: MY BALL IS NOT ON THE FUCKING GREEN.

Mat: What?

Mary: Never mind, I guess I will walk around and FIND MY OWN BALL.

My ball had not hit the green. Or, if it had, it had then taken on new life and bounced down a giant hill, perhaps hit a little cart path, and ended up in some snake-infested grass by a pond. I found it and I was so angry. So. Angry. But since I am Mary all emotions manifest themselves into tears. I'm angry so I will cry. I am frustrated so I will cry harder. I am losing and am competitive so I will cry while throwing something.

I picked up my ball and sat down and cried. I cried for all women trying to get laid. I cried for the children of the world being neglected by their parents who were trying to shoot in the 70's. I cried for poor and sick people, just because.

Mat: Hey, oh your ball was down here. That's silly. Wha- wait....are you okay?

Mary: YOU TOLD (SOB) ME (SNOT SNIFFLE) MY BALL (SOB) WAS ON THE GREEN.

Mat: Well, I thought it was.

Mary:  HOW COULD YOU DO THIS SHIT TO ME? YOU'RE SO MEAN. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. MY BALL ISN'T ANYWHERE CLOSE TO THE GREEN? I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING MARRIED. I'M SO BAD AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY FAULT ITS ALL YOURS AND I'M EVEN WEARING A GOLF SKIRT.WWWWWWAAHHHHH.

Mat: Oh my god. Are you serious? I know you're frustrated but you're acting crazy.

Mary: STOP LOOKING AT ME (to a nice couple in their 50's who were patiently waiting for me to get off their hole) Ohhhh, I'm acting crazy huh? How's this for crazy? (Throws club onto the ground)

Mat: (Picks up club) (Walks back to the cart) (Gives brother a knowing look)

Mary: I just wanna walk. I hate that fucking golf cart.

I continued to play with them with many more outbreaks like the one above, but I decided to stop playing permanently when Mat took me to Hawaii. It was so beautiful, I thought for sure I wouldn't get upset. Nothing could make me upset.

I had rented clubs because it was less than bringing them on the plane. That's an important part of the story.

Look at us! We're SO happy and perfect on this beautiful course!



Up so early and happy for a day of golf in paradise!




Look at us! Happy and excellent at golfing!



Ain't nothing wrong with a semi-slutty stance when you're a badass golfer!

Damn, we looked good in 07.

Not the place for a freakout. Right?

First of all, it was (is, maybe? Who knows) EXTREMELY windy in Honolulu. At first it was funny to watch our shots fly all over the place.  We would laugh and high five each other and stick our tongues in each other mouths. We'd laugh at the prairie dogs making sweet love all over the damn place.

But once you've hit that many terrible shots in a row, with only prairie dog sex to cheer you up, It gets real. The fact you spent 180 bucks a piece to shank all your proV1's into the Pacific starts taking it's toll on you. Mat was getting frustrated. Which escalated me. I had taken 4 mulligans on a hole when I had had enough. I took my club and I calmly set it on the tee box while I gave it a pep talk.

"You listen here, and you listen good. You are a demon. You are the lowest piece of shit of the scum of the earth. Nobody likes you, ya hear me? NOBODY FUCKING LIKES YOU. YOU'RE A SLUT. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO YOU'RE NOT A SLUT. YOU ARE A PROSTITUTE. YOU DON'T HAVE A HOME, NOBODY WANTS YOU! BECAUSE YOU'RE A PIECE OF VAGINA TRASH GARBAGE SHITCAKE! EVERYONE THAT COMES HERE PAYS TO RENT YOU AND THEN GIVES YOU BACK BECAUSE YOU'RE A WHORE. A WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOREEEEEEE!"

Mat comforted me and told me he thought I had been too hard on the poor rented 5 wood. He cancelled the rest of our planned golf games and I haven't played a game since.

I wish I was born a prairie dog.