IN WHICH WE HAVE A REVELATION ON THE JOURNEY OF LIFE...

I'm old, I'm slow, and apparently I like to hit things.

---Spinster Stitcher

In the last several days I have played pickleball and golf.

(Pause for reaction.)

The pickleball experiment was a whim/challenge that Happened last Saturday evening when Mister Spinster made a crack about me and my propensity for sitting in my Happy Chair all day. I picked up that gauntlet and before I knew it, I was at the Walmarts looking for the sporting good section.

I don't want to imply that I'm an actual athlete or anything remotely close to such, but...

I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST PICKLEBALL PLAYER.  EVER.

Mister Spinster was stunned, suitably humbled, and picking pickleball remnants out of his teeth for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, just as I was settling in with my paper, book, and stitching for the day...he did it again.

This time, the gauntlet was in the form of a golf ball. I suspect that Mister Spinster chose this particular sport because he remembered that a) I haven't played the game in almost 20 years, and b) I am so bad at the game that no less than six pros have given me my money back after trying (unsuccessfully) to teach me how hit the ball.

So I dusted off my clubs (literally), shoved my feet into my 30 year old golf shoes (which fit...remarkably), and decided that, if nothing else, it was a pretty day for a ride in a cart.

We went over to campus and paid our twenty bucks (nineteen for me as an alumna!) and after much fussing to find a glove, a ball, and a tee...headed out.

Mister S teed off first and hit it a thousand miles, as usual. He tried, he really did, but I swear I saw a smug little smirk on his face as we headed to the ladies' tees.

I was terrified.

I immediately looked around to see who else would share in my humiliation, said a little prayer to my folks in heaven, took a deep breath, and then...crushed it straight down the center of the fairway.

I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST GOLFER. EVER.

As God is my witness, Dearies, I have no earthly idea where the heck this came from. I'm not completely without a modicum of coordination (I do, after all, have the ability to use a laying tool!), but me play sports? Adequately?

I wouldn't bet the ranch on that one.

No idea at all what the difference is, but I suspect that age and wisdom are both playing a part, as well as the fact that I'm so darn tired that I don't have the energy to overthink anything, let alone a swing or proper stance or ball placement, etc.  All I do know is that I enjoyed myself immensely and with every THWACK of the ball I felt my troubles just melt away.

(Hmmmmmm.  I need to remember to discuss this with Dr. Melfi. I do hope that it's not some manifestation of inner rage or something.  Wouldn't that be interesting? Mild-mannered spinster by day...fire-breathing demon hitting things at night!)

Chair time is upon me, so I suppose I better go. I am physically a bit wiped out, so methinks I might just settle in with a movie or two today.

Happy Futzingday to all! Do something fun and come tell me all about it!