The Blonde Duck Plays Golf and Feels Old

I dislike golf. I find it boring and pointless. This also applies to putt putt. However, there is a sense in fun in putt putt as you scamper around hitting balls in tunnels and elaborate displays.

After the victorious return of my husband and Bryan and Dave with the return of our brand new lawn mower, we were ready to go. The boys were fed, greasy and empowered by the purchase of power machinery. Even if it was the cheapest lawn mower at Sears. For the small engine, it had a mighty roar.

We piled into Bryan's truck and headed off to Karen's. I had found a putt putt place nearby that was only $4, which was a great deal. Karen had tried to plan this evening, and was very flustered. My husband has recently adopted the policy that weekends are to be relaxing and scheldules are to be ignored. That did not set well with Karen.

Eventually, we made it to the putt putt place. The group was a bit divided, as Karen had invited two of her friends from high school. Now, I generally like girls. I just don't talk to a lot of them. For some reason, I was always the sole girl in a group of guys. Once I hit high school, I had a few girl friends to cling to, like barnacles on a whale. There are times when I am really not in the mood to be overly social to people I don't know. That tends to happen in a overcrowded putt putt place. When small children are whining behind me and their parents are too busy ignoring them to smack them, I get annoyed.

It first starts as a small itch, like an itch behind your ear. Soon, as you stand with your back turned to the chaos, you can feel the masses of people building behind you. The sighing and complaining drills into your skull: "Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmm, why is it taking so long? When's it going to be myyyyyyyyyyyyy turn? ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!" It was all I could do not to turn around and slap the child. His smirking chocolate smeared face and mohawk (really, four year olds should not have mohawks. They were gone in the 80's for a reason) just made my jaw clench.

So, talking to two giggling girls who were whispering and taking pictures with a camera was not going to be on the menu tonight. I was busy trying to stay happy and not climb a clocktower. They looked perfectly content on their own. I thought I'd leave them there and stick with my husband, dave and bryan. The Boys were highly entertaining. From Dave trying to patiently teach me not to beat my ball but to gently hit it to my husband doing the peanut butter jelly time dance, it was highly entertaining. Since I was growing bored with smacking the ball around, I was amusing myself through dancing. At every hole.

It wasn't so much hitting the ball was boring, as the massive need to escape from the crowd behind me. I despise crowds, and with everyone trying to get their ball in the hole people built up behind us. Since I went last, I could feel eyes boring into my butt as I bent over. My butt is not my best feature. Therefore, I wanted to prevent eyes from lingering there as much as possible. I did not feel like providing a presentation of my cellulite for the world to see.

By the time we got done, I was more than ready to move on. Or keep dancing. I would have been perfectly content to continue dancing on the rocks near the airplane toilet blue water that smelled like rubber french toast.

One of Karen's friends wanted margaritas. Ben wanted food. (Gasp! I just revealed my husband's name!) Having not eaten, he was cranky and near a temper tantrum. The two sides, Boys and Girls, went to their respective vehicles. Poor Karen was striving for an answer to see if we would go to get margaritas. Dave and Bryan wouldn't make a choice, and I was twirling to "California Dreams" in the parking lot. Before you ask, there was actually music playing.

We found ourselves at the restaurant, which had a wait. After some drama from Karen reporting the other girls thought I disliked them, I was pretty fed up. I was tired, Ben was cranky, and I was now stuck in a loud restaurant with people surrounding me. There was a man and his child sitting next to me and with every breath I could feel them moving closer. I seriously wanted to smack someone. By the time dinner was over, I was going to implode. After a comment about the "old married couple" going home as the rest of the group continued the evening, I was ready to fight.

The whole thing had left me annoyed and confused. Am I just antisocial? Do I spend so much time alone writing that I can't get along with people anymore? Or is it just that I'm over the high school factor? I enjoy it when we all get together and relax and talk at someone's house. I enjoy going to dinner. I enjoy movies. But for some reason, the whole evening just reminded me of being back in high school. I enjoyed myself and had a good time, but I just didn't want to deal with it. I didn't want to make people mad, I didn't want to have to worry about anything. I just wanted to dance around and be weird. Maybe getting married and getting away from Baylor has just given me a different perspective. I don't obsess over my body like I used to and I'm a lot more focused on my writing career. I've gotten a lot done that I would have never gotten done before.

So, I may never be the partying type. I'll stick on my floor with my scrapbooks. I just want to relax. And if that makes me antisocial, so be it.