Things parents don't think of.

Mosquitoes are really bad around here lately.  Our record rainfall has resulted in mosquito heaven, and they're so bad that people are avoiding to be outside.  The other day, I went out in long pants, a long sleeved shirt, socks and shoes; and I still came in with welts all over my arms, legs and ankles.  It makes me want to stay inside.  It makes me wish for fall.  Oddly, it makes me think of golf.

My parents are golfers.  My mom in particular is really good, and plays every day (sometimes a few times a day).   I suppose it makes sense that they'd want me to golf too, but it wasn't really my thing.  I'd go out for the obligatory games a couple of times every week.  I'd take 3 hours to golf 9 holes, and I was miserable the whole time.  Why, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you.

Our golf course - the one for which my parents bought me a membership; and by golly, if they were going to buy me a membership, I'd use it - is a very established course, full of mature trees and lush greenery.  It is situated inside of a bend in the river.  It's one of those swanky courses, where only members are welcome, where dress codes are enforced and where juniors are only allowed to golf in the evenings.

I'll translate that for you:  our parents sent us out under the guise of whacking a ball around the course twice a week, when really our main purpose out there was to act as bate during the mosquitoes' prime hunting hours.

I'd go out there, hit the ball 12-15 times a hole, spend the whole time trashing around, swing my club at the clouds of mosquitoes and do the 'got bit again' jig.  It's no wonder I never developed any skills on the course.  I was too busy out there, fighting for my life.

Note to the 'rents: the violin lessons were a much better idea.