Why my Wife Likes for Me to Play Golf

        Spring is about here, ’cause Ms. Marfar bought me some new golf shirts and encouraged me to get back at it.

        Part of it is that she knows it is the last thing remotely athletic I can still do.  Basketball and baseball are long over and football never was, (too skinny) but with golf I can still pretend.

        After a long winter of being cooped up, I get restless and need to be a little boy if but for a few hours.  She’s good to not protest it.

        I am a dumb man, but I ain’t all dumb, though.  I established a house rule a long time ago.  Whatever I make in bluegrass music or gambling at golf I leave at her place at the dinner table.  We only bet fifteen bucks, so on the best day you’re talking $150.00 or so if you clean house.  (When I lose we don’t talk about that, but she can tell within twelve seconds of me walking in the door.  I’m not sullen, but I ain’t bragging either.)

       All this behavior goes back a long ways, and the house rules have never changed.  The money is hers, but with only one condition.  She can not spend it on household budget items or for that matter on anything sensible.  (After all, I came by it playing so it’s only fair.)  It must be spent on her and her only.  I call it Marfar’s mad money. 

        I can’t lose.  If I don’t win on the golf course, I ain’t worked up about it.  It is only a game, and I’ve had a day in the sun.  Like the great Cary Middlecoff said, “I don’t worry over four foot putts.  If I miss, my wife still loves me and we’re eating steak tonight.”  And when I win Marfar seems to want me to play even more.

        Now before you go worry ole Dr. B is gonna get in trouble for gambling, no fear.  The high Sheriff and police play in our group, and they say the dollar figures involved are not enough to warrant any legal consequences.  Besides, I’ve noticed their wives encourage them to get out and mix it up with the boys too.  I think they’ve all been talking.

        Like I say, I’m a dumb man, but I ain’t all dumb.  Wednesday our group lost the front and the overall, but the wind got up and we rallied to win back nine with a gritty one over par.  I came home and put the thirty bucks on the table.  It ain’t much, but every little bit helps.  I have no idea what she might save it for, and don’t want to know. It might wreck a lifetime of a good negotiations. 

       Hey, I have a big event coming up- my first big paying writer gig- coverage of a regional bluegrass event.  Will tell you all about it in my next post.

Dr. B

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8 Comments on “Why my Wife Likes for Me to Play Golf”

  1. whodoesshethinksheisanyway Says:

    I’m going to learn a lot from you, Dr. B. I would say you are a very smart man. Thanks!

  2. drtombibey Says:

    I work in an office with twelve women and I listen to what they say. It has made me a much wiser man.

    Dr. B

  3. pandemonic Says:

    I think I’ll send this post over to my husband. He doesn’t often golf for money, and he hardly gambles anymore, but I’d kind of like to have a chunk of it when he wins. After all, he might want me to share when I win the lottery.

  4. drtombibey Says:

    Pande,

    Correctamongo. All for one and one for all is best.

    Dr. B

  5. mrschili Says:

    I would encourage my own husband to go out and play if I thought he would. He’s really a kind of solitary man, and I wish to God/dess that he had more friends. I think it’s important to have a social network, and I wish that more people got to see what a wonderful, funny person my beloved is…

  6. Ted Lehmann Says:

    With your handicap I might give it a try, too, but I’ll have to leave it to the big boys. Meanwhile, we’re back from the cruise, it’s hot in Florida, and all’s well. – Ted

  7. drtombibey Says:

    mrschili,

    mrchili is likely a reserved gentleman. You are probably better off not to be inundated with golf pals and bluegrass buddies crashing out between gigs.

    Dr. B

  8. drtombibey Says:

    Ted,

    Lord don’t take up golf now if you ain’t already bit. A good game is a sign of a mis-spent youth. (Often so is a good picker, though.)

    Dr. B


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