Excerpt from *What is This Thing Called Golf*

DATELINE: SQUARESVILLE-it's around Xmas and parties, well, parties are not
what I'm after. I'd rather watch mold grow, I'd rather do the frigging
laundry, but I've got this gal, see, who drags me to a screaming
motherhumper of a gathering at which non-retarded children-and interested
adults-are induced to sing happy birthday to Jesus. I'm thoroughly
revolted-what's this earth coming to?-and only by sheer force of will do I
avoid puking right in my eggnog. That accomplished, I empty my glass,
launch into a chorus of "How old are you now?" and am ssss'ed down royally.
By staring at my shoes, speaking to no one and swallowing everything liquid
that isn't Pepsi I survive the event with little more than a major-league
hangover and serious ruptures in my boy-girl relationship.
"Wasn't that lovely?" she whispers, all aglow ("...'neath the
mistletoe"), my longstanding, longsuffering relational other.
"Um...you mean escaping with our lives?"
"No, silly, the party. Didn't you find it extremely warm and
beautiful?"
"Huh, whuh-all that lowlife? The seersucker, the tweed? I was
surprised how few gold chains-they must've left 'em home as tree
ornaments."
"Y'know sometimes you don't understand anything. What those people
were was normal. "
"...?!?!"
"I wish you could appreciate the things in life like they do."
"What, read the stock pages, play golf?"
"I'm not talking about golf."
"What then, stocks? Bonds?"
"I really wish you'd grow up."
"Oh, and play golf?"
"It's got nothing to do with golf!"
"Yes it does. That's the heart of it."
"So play golf then. If you're so fixated on it, play."
"I don't wanna play golf. Why should I play golf?"
"I need to find someone who's not such a baby."
"Okay, I'll play."
"Suit yourself."

* * *

I MUST PLAY GOLF
I MUST PLAY GOLF
I MUST PLAY GOLF
I MUST PLAY GOLF
I MUST...

Just for research.
DOES GOLF REQUIRE A JOCK? We'll soon see.