You are here. And here. And over here, too.

I was able to squeeze in another grudge match golf game with the little miser yesterday.  We haven't played much this summer due to our conflicting schedules, but, we both committed to the date, the weather cooperated, and we had a great time.  We are approaching probably the last of our scheduled matches as the weather is beginning to turn, and we won't have many more opportunities.    For the record, I beat the short-armed one by 2 strokes and, of course, regained the ceremonial quarter in the exact same condition I had given it up 6 weeks earlier when he beat me by 9 (yes, NINE) strokes. You see,  I had secretly marked the quarter with the term "CHEAPSKATE" etched around the outside edge before handing it over previously as I long suspected that the Frugal One would never part with any quarter, regardless of the circumstances under which it was attained.    Sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed.  The "cheapskate" quarter is back in my possession.       

As compensation for his poor performance on the golf course, however, it was the decision of Dickie Skiltskin to instead focus on my failure to properly read the map of the golf course.  I misdirected our play to  the wrong hole at one point and we ended up getting "lost" on the course.  Finally figuring out where we went wrong, we had to walk an extra 400 yards to the proper point to regain the proper progression of play.  Lost in all of the whining and complaining  was the fact that, at this point, our boy was down 7 strokes to me and fading fast.  I actually offered him that I would penalize myself 5 strokes for the screw-up for compensation and as an incentive to cheer him up for being so far behind.  Hard-headed and vigorously denying that he needed no charity, the little Arnold wannabe played on.  It was the last hole where my wheels fell off (water hazard, lost ball, etc.) and I  lost the hole by 5 strokes.  Had Mr. Golf taken me up on my generous offer, he actually would have won the match by 3 strokes.  But nooooooo, he soldiered on, won the hole, lost the match, and then has the audacity to say, "Well, I know you won, but it wasn't very pretty".  Really!?  Who has the quarter?

Enjoying the 19th hole where we both scored some well deserved beer, we were able to recap our game and the events of the afternoon.     Feeling the effects of the beer, our boy asked me "which way to the restroom?"    Coming back a bit later, I note his frustrated face.  "You dumb shit! That was the ladies room!  The men's is over on the other side",  he said.

I guess I should have studied the layout  of the clubhouse in the first place.  Had I done so, I would have purposely sent him to the clubhouse showroom.   Perhaps he could have found a set of clubs that would help lower his score.