The rain began speckling my sunglasses. Good. This Duffer could call it a day. Enough of the Bingo Bango Bongo Mulligans, right? WRONG. Another nine holes. Another hour and 45 minutes to go. There was just enough time to grab a hot chocolate, sweetened by an obliging bar tender, and a small bag of white cheddar popcorn. My saliva glands are juicing at the memory.
Whoops! The powder-blue designer golf shirt Sis had leant me was now sporting several chocolaty splashes. She was not amused. As the golfer of the family headed off for another nine humiliations, I retired to the ladies room to repair the damages. Stripped to the waist, slurping alcoholic chocolate milk and scarfing down crunchies, I never noticed that a major portion, over half of my upper left molar, had somehow broken off and been summarily swallowed. Did this come under the heading of "loose impediments" or "moveable obstructions"? It was definitely over-par in my book.
Sis: I'll call you back. I'm next in the tee box.
Sis is ever about moving briskly along the course, never to be accused of holding people back as she masters her picture-perfect swing.
Me: No, no, don't hang up. I need a dentist!
Wandering from green to green, dodging bogeys, I stopped a group of strangers. "What hole is this?" The look I received back spoke, "Run! She's totally mad and foaming at the mouth!!"
Five days later, a temporary filling was expertly deployed, to the end that I can wait while my dentist travels leisurely around France and I abstain from popcorn and golfing.
Does your favourite or least favourite sport include hazards to your health and well-being?