Billiards versus Golf
My college roommate and I had a plan.
We were absolutely certain our plan would work.
We were going to learn to play billiards and golf and this, THIS my friends, would snag us a husband or, failing that, at least a date.
Our plan was beautiful in its simplicity. It had two phases.
Phase one of the plan required us to become familiar with the game of pool. So we enrolled in billiards 101. The idea being that having a basic but not too astute understanding of billiards would lure attractive men to the pool table in local drinking establishments, where they would take pity on us and try to show us how to play.
Phase two of the plan required us to become G.R.E.A.T at golf because, we figured, men like women who can golf. And, unlike pool, they do not want to teach helpless women how to put, drive, or chip while they are enjoying their golf game. We were gonna WOW them with our golf prowess. So, we enrolled in Golf 101 with high hopes. (Now, I bet you are thinking, “Why didn’t my college have a class called Billiards 101 or Golf 101 so I could implement this plan as well?” The answer, “You went to a better college than I did!”).
Good plan, eh?
The problem with the plan became immedtiately apparent. I mean, immediately.
We were good at billiards and terrible at golf. And when I say good, I mean give-yourself-a-nickname good. And when I say terrible I mean give-yourself-a-nickname terrible.
My nickname for billiards was “Wears Green Felt Clothes”, hers was “Slatehead.” My nickname for golf was “Continent Flies After Ball” (due to the tremendous amount of dirt and grass that was dislodged with every stroke) and hers was … well, actually, I cannot remember. But it was BAD!
It is amazing we ever got married at all with this plan. Luckily, it only took her about 6 months after this failed plan to find herself a good husband. It took me 9 years.
Ironically, her husband is a great golfer. Fittingly, mine hates golf.
But, both the husbands can kick our respective bee-hinds at billiards.
What I gleaned most from this was that you admit that UW is better than WSU. Thank you.
Ya know, I have the power to delete comments, Beck….
I wish I could refute this saying that she is fabricating this tale but alas, she is not…and it wouldn’t be nearly as funny if she’d made this up! Signed, Slatehead
Freaking Brillant! At least your plan involved a learned skill. The closest I ever came to a plan was hanging out where the hot fireman were, which unfortunely I never quite figured out. I did happen across the hangout of the unattractive ones, bad night, don’t ask.
If only my girlfriends and I could have thought of something this clever we might not all be stuck with our highschool boyfriends! Dear highschool boyfriends turned husbands, If you happen across this comment forgive me and our lust for Mr. March, August and November of the 1998 City of Seattle fire dept.
Amanda…SO FUNNY! Both my husband and I were cracking up tonight about your post.
Cracking me UP! Kari, you could probably do a whole blog about your adventures with your college roommate, I wager. :)
I knew I had found my man when he kicked my butt at Saturday Night Live Trivial Persuit. *sigh*