Monday, July 07, 2014

A Wild Romance

I 'm in love with a pink golf ball. It's not the color. In fact the color is garish and in your face loud and boisterous. It demands you notice the dimples.

I didn't buy this ball. Someone lost it and a man on a mower found it and tossed it to me. I fell in love on the third hole. The ball read my mind and went straight and long-- for me. It consistently listened.

I know that in the beginning of a courtship each partner is out to impress, to show their best manners, to listen, to be attentive.

I know that a long courtship is preferable, but I want a sleeve, a whole box of these pink golf balls. They also come in white, but the glitzy pink showboat has captured my heart. They love flying high. If I buy the white will they be prim, self-contained, and not taken to flights of fancy?

I can't take a chance. But at heart I'm a realist and this pink peacock will need to prove that she is more than a one night stand.

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