Speaking of regrets.
His name was Jimmy Hendrix (Hendricks?) I swear it. He was handsome and was studying to be an engineer. My friends contrived a “chance meeting”. He drove up in the Oscar Mayer Weiner Mobile. I did not get in.
I’d like to have seen the inside of that sweet sweet ride. But had I gone on that date I would’ve missed meeting The Husband who drove a not-at-all conspicuous Ford Explorer at the time.
Fast forward fifteen years and I decided as long as we were on the path to growing old together we should take up a common hobby in retirement. I could’ve chosen ornithology or cruising but I chose golf. I liked the clothes. It was only slightly problematic that I didn’t know how to golf.
I don’t know if I have an inner athlete. Growing up Jehovah’s Witness I was not permitted to participate in sports. Not that I didn’t try.
I tried out for cheerleader in the eighth grade— I liked the uniform. I lost out to Beth and Joanne—two hulking giants. Feeling sorry for me, Coach Henry let me join the basketball team. I remember the uniforms were Dijon gold with a royal blue ribbing. But I was 59 years old (literally, this morning) when I figured out what Coach Henry meant when he asked me to “set a screen”.
My best friend Lea Ann and I tried out for the track team in the ninth grade. When they asked if we wanted to run hurdles or relays we looked at each other and shrugged. I mean—what does that even mean? The coach let us be the equipment managers. We were in charge of setting up hurdles and looking badass in our terrycloth shorty-shorts jumpsuits.
When I secretly signed up for the bowling team in the tenth grade, I think I told my mom I had a 7th hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays or something equally deceitful.
The following year I enrolled in golf for my required Phys Ed credit entirely because I had a mad crush on David Newby who was on the golf team. I was halfway through the season and wearing kitten heel pumps and a red dress with an Empire waistline when the golf coach realized I didn’t even have clubs.
It wasn’t until nine years ago I really took up golf and have made what Coach Henry would deem “narrow improvement”. Last month I entered a golf tournament with my friend Sandy, and by celestial error, we won (Sandy won; I rode her coattails). Suddenly other girls at my club wanted to golf with me. I was getting congrats by text and in my email inbox, a couple of times glasses were raised to the “Champion!” All the while all my closest friends and literally anyone who has ever golfed with me knew that I was a fraudulent fraudy fraud. I haven’t been able to hit the side of a barn with a golf ball since then. Champion. You bet.
And bad mistakes
I’ve made a few
I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face
but I’ve come throughQueen
I still haven’t found my inner athlete but I will keep trying. All because I want to have a common hobby with that Husband of mine. And of course the clothes.
That Weiner Mobile would’ve been something though, speaking of regrets.
But it’s been no bed of roses
No pleasure cruise
I consider it a challenge for the human race
But I ain’t gonna lose
And we mean to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friendsQueen