Mini-golf is not my favorite thing to do. I don't mind the activity itself, it's more that few things in this world bring out the worst in me like that a mini-golf game. I find my inability to get my brightly colored ball into that little cup to be occasionally infuriating. Okay, often infuriating. My mother still tells the tale of how I, as a very small child, chased my brother around a putt putt course trying to hit him. In the head. With my club.
It's safe to say that he was better at mini-golf than I was.
When my daughter and I were invited to join some of her friends and their parents at our local mini-golf course. At the heat of the day. On an 88 degree day. Before we left, my husband kindly reminded me that he was headed off on a business trip that same day and would be unable to bail me out of jail.
My tween, who has been around a course or two with me before, was also concerned. She said, however, that I would be fine if I just followed her rules when golfing. Those rules are:
1. No swearing.
2. Take deep breaths.
3. Remember that people you are with love you and don't care if you stink. What matters is that you try.
And so, my friends, I am headed to bed tonight with the knowledge that I need to be better about watching my mouth around, that she's better with a putter than I am, and that she has also perhaps figured out a thing or two about life.
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