eleventy-two-thousand-and-five

I went golfing this morning with Daddy-O.

I almost didn't go golfing this morning. I didn't wake up to my alarm and Daddy-O ended up waking me up as I should have been heading out the door. I managed to feed the cats, get dressed, brush my teeth and hair and grab breakfast to eat on the way. Oh, and make sure I had my EpiPen. I certainly can't go golfing without that. 

I was out the door in five minutes.

It sure is pretty. 

And frustrating. How can such a cute little white ball be so frustrating?

And what the heck is with this? I call it the Stairway to Hell. Isn't golf supposed to be walking from the tee to the green and chasing that cute little white ball? A little bit of uphill walking. A little bit of downhill walking. And chasing that cute little white ball. No where in there does it include a Stairway to Hell. They certainly left that part out of the brochure. 

This guy came for a snack. He was very tame. Or she. I didn't get that close. 

I am a good golfer. 

In my dreams.

Eleventy-two-thousand-and-five.

That was my score. 

Eleventy-two-thousand-and-five.