Dear Mr. Woods,
Forgive me for neglecting to congratulate you and Mrs. Woods on the birth of your son.
May he bring you much joy.
Well, it all started with the real estate agent asking,
"Would you be interested in a house on a golf course?"
"It's not something that I had my sights on, but I don't think I'd mind it,"I replied.
Little did I know what an adventure it would be.
We liked the house, It was brand new, but there were a few "pock" marks on the siding.
The home inspector told us that the dents were caused by golf balls.
Our neighbor, told us that she found that hard to believe because in order to hit our house, it would have to be hit from the Pro Tee and that no one hitting off that tee would make such a terrible, terrible shot. *note the two terribles.
The home inspector was right.
The listing read:
Relax on your deck at sunset with a pristine view of the Eleventh fairway of Treyburn's Private Golf Course.
So, a few days after moving in, I decided to try it.
After a rough day at work I armed myself with a white wine spritzer and I sunk into a chair on the deck. I tilted my head back over the back of the chair and my pony tail hung over. I was quietly meditating when suddenly, without warning a propulsive force collided with my pony tail jolting my head and crashing loudly onto my deck.
My life passed before my eyes as I saw my husband, my parents, my children, my grandchildren...
My heart was beating out of my chest and I was quite shaken.
Within minutes two carts pulled into my back yard.
A sheepish looking male approached me asking if he broke anything.
"No, I replied, the velocity was slowed by the impact with my pony tail. In Warner Brother Cartoons Bugs Bunny yells 'Fore' as a warning."
"I didn't know there was a house here." he replied.
Evidently the warning isn't indicated when you have no clue what your wayward shot will hit. The picture is a view of my house from the tee.
"You know," I said, "my neighbor and her husband golf here and she told me that if anyone ever even came even close to hitting our house, it would be such a terrible shot that it would be too humiliating to retrieve the ball." My jaw was still quivering.
At this point the other three males were quietly convulsing.
"Well, it's not like it's a secret. I am very sorry," he said remorsefully.
He seemed to genuinely comprehend the near tragedy.
Out of compassion, I forgave him.
"So, are you going to give me my ball back?" he asked.
Study Notes: As Alaskan salmon instinctively battle the perilous rapids.
the male golfers are singularly driven to keep their balls.
With Kind regards,
Muse
