M and I took the day off to go golfing. Mostly because M really needed a day off and, well, I never take days off. (That’s called dedication! …Or guilt. I haven’t decided which one.)

We’re pretty interesting golfers. And it’s not because we don’t like playing with strangers or hate being rushed. Nahhhh, it’s probably because we’re not very good. But! Watching the two of us play golf is a fantastic way for pros to get their jollies. Although, M is way better at golf than I. It’s pathetic, really. Not because M’s better, but because a golfcourse runs through my grandparents’ backyard and growing up, I had plenty of opportunity to play…Although I did catch a whole lot of nightcrawlers on that golfcourse. That’s gotta count for something.

M looks a lot like this playing golf:

Jerk.

Evidently M even got a birdie, though I did not see it. Suspicious? I think so. (It was actually a pretty epic shot.)

I question the validity of this “birdie.”

And me? Well, I look a lot more like this playing golf:

Those aren’t tears of joy, you know.

I didn’t do all that bad, though. I did rather well the last few holes. My putting is exceptional. And by exceptional, I mean I could kick any eight year old’s ass at a mini-golf birthday extravangza.

And then I inadvertantly Tebow’d picking up my ball. I think it was a sign. I’m not sure what kind of sign. Maybe that I should try a different sport? Or maybe that if Tim Tebow can defy the odds, so can I? Or maybe it’s just that I should tie my shoelaces because I tend to trip over them.