The Year the Easter Bunny Brought Me a Bowling Trophy

One of my family’s childhood Easter traditions, like many of you, involved journeying over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house.  For us, the tradition also included Grandma-style paparazzi.  Within seconds of stepping on Grandma ground,  she’d appear like magic with her cheap camera with the little disposable flash on top as if she had been hiding in the bushes.  There was no escaping the Easter family picture.  I have all of them. My cousins and I made the best of Grandmother’s paparazzi ways by proudly displaying our Easter Bunny spoils.  For the first 7 years of my life, there I am in the pictures smiling cheesily holding up a stuffed animal and a basket chock full of chocolate (Easter Bunny didn’t play at my house).

Here is an example…….  Easter when I was 5. I wonder what my  mom is studying on my head. I wish I still had outfit she is wearing!

THEN………….on the Easter when I was 9, there is this photo.

Who knew the Easter Bunny brings bowling trophies!!!

Happy Easter Everyone!

Note: My cousins were all older than me.  I suspect I left the Easter Bunny’s gift of a stuffed animal and basket in the car and was trying to look cool.  My mom was a good Easter Bunny, so I know there was a real gift.  I won the trophy for bowling a 150.  I can’t even bowl a 50 these days.

Hackers & Whackers – A Golf Team Naming Tale

Testing my driver out with Tiger Wood’s Balls for blog:

On April 30th, I most likely will adversely impact global warming with the horrific swing of my golf clubs. Like a butterfly’s wings, I do a lot of whiffin’ with my clubs. Yes, I am participating in a golf tournament on a team consisting of four coworkers. My team mates are all men who don a perpetual mantle of jocularity. In plain English, they are fun. Currently, our team is nameless.  We need a name.

It goes without saying that a woman cannot talk golf with jocular-mantle wearing men without double entendres exploding in her face. Matters are made worse by the fact that one of my team mates doesn’t always pronounce his “Ls.” His “holes” sound like “hoes.” Playing “18 hoes” is a bit different than playing “18 holes.” Thank goodness he says “play” and not “pay.”

Our first attempt at team-name negotiating didn’t go well.  The following names were presented to me with the seriousness of Phil Mickelson on a tee box:

Lost Balls
Holey Ones
Small Holes, Big Balls
Hackers & Whackers
No Hoes Barred (guess who suggested this one)
Ball Busters
Whack Attack
Teasers & Pleasers
D-GAS (acronym for don’t give a shit)

Needless to say, we still don’t have a team name.  Stay tuned.