My husband approaches the start of golf season roughly the way that a small child anticipates Christmas. As the winter melts away, he gets increasingly fidgety and starts doing a little golf season dance.
In general, I have nothing against the game of golf. It isn't for me, but I have no problem with the sport itself. However, the fact that, starting sometime in April, my husband disappears for half the weekend any time that I will let him does pose some problems.
I should clarify that my husband is truly great. I am not sure that I would change anything about him if I were starting over and making him from scratch. Okay maybe a couple of things, but they are all petty and things that, deep down, I love him for anyway. Seriously, he is an amazing father. He cleans. He can't cook much, but if I am too tired, he whips up the one thing that he can make without complaint. He encourages me to relax when I can and never complains when I need to take a day to myself.
Enter the warm weather and there is now a mistress to tend to - golf. And this year, she is coming early. What a bitch. So now my doting husband will spend five or six hours of our Saturday and Sunday with his slow-paced and, in my opinion, dull hobby, instead of giving me some much needed assistance.
Selfish, I know. He works hard too. But with regards to this particular issue, I have to say that I don't really care. Ultimately, I'll let him go and just mumble and mope around with the kids until he gets home.
Not until October will I return to my normal, sunny self on the weekends when the chill returns and he has no choice but to hang out with us again. It is one of the few reasons that I appreciate this weird and typically cool climate in which we live.
For now, I have the whole spring and summer ahead of me to gripe. Stupid golf.