Friday, July 1, 2011

**UPDATED: And this is why I don't play sports.

As indicated by my last post, I may not be much in the kitchen, but I try to be a good wife where it counts...the golf course.  To celebrate Canada's birthday, the husband asked if I would like to join him in a round of golf to which I agreed, thinking this is the perfect opportunity to work on my tan.

He comes from a family of obsessed avid golfers, and I?  Well, I'm trying to adjust as best I can.  The thing is?  I don't like things I'm not good at - and when you're playing with people who kick-ass, you feel like someone should take one of your irons and beat you with it to put you out of your misery, and to simultaneously give the club the best action it's seen all day.

Today however I didn't really care how poorly I was playing because,well....

This is your heel.

This is your heel on golf.
What the fuck?!

The worst part about this is that I didn't even get to pop it myself.  Popping and peeling is the only respectable thing about bubble blisters - especially one that size.  The stupid thing popped and peeled itself with the support of my sock and golf shoe, who were also the culprits of said blister.  I feel like I've been robbed.

This kind of shit?  This is why I don't play sports, my friends.


This has become the blister 2 days later.  This?  Is not attractive.

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