I have a reputation. Not anything sinister, or lawbreaking. Just that I am known for dragging, coercing, or bribing my guys to walk through art museums with me. And everyone is always SO sympathetic. Poor Timothy. Poor Joe. What good sports they are! There evidence aplenty of their sacrifice: glazed eyes while standing in a room of Renaissance art, sitting slumped on benches waiting for mom to finish reading placards, the visible sigh when I pull them aside to describe chiaroscuro or sfumato.
But now it is time to be sympathetic for Bia, and it all
started when I surprised Joe with two tickets to the RBC Heritage last Saturday.
I declared it Joe’s Day!
The
Venue: Hilton Head Island
The
Menu: a full day at a golf tournament
The
seating: none (we walked an 18-hole golf course many times)
The Weather: 85 degrees (but add in Hilton Head’s humidity, so like 110 degrees)
As you can see, sarcasm is starting to seep in, but first allow me to accentuate the positives!
Everything worked out perfectly: the ticket purchase, the
shuttle ride to the tournament (we parked at the Discovery Center), the weather
(it did not rain). It was exciting to be THIS CLOSE to famous golfers: Scotty Scheffler,
Rory McIlroy, Justin Thomas. At one point I was three feet away from Keegan
Bradley and I so wanted to say, “Hey Keegan. You rented our house last year!” But Joe wouldn’t let me. Golf etiquette is a real thing.
But now the sarcasm. It was sooooo hot. The thermometer registered
85 degrees (which sounds pleasant) but 85 degrees on Hilton Head is not a true
temperature. Factor in no breeze, off-the-chart humidity and limited shade, and
suddenly Hilton Head Island turns into Dante’s inferno.
Sticky. Sweaty. Oppressive.
But, it was Joe’s Day and I was a GOOD SPORT. Nary a
complaint from me about the heat. I smiled as I drank my 10th bottle of water. I offered nothing but enthusiastic support as we walked along with the sweaty, teeming mass of humanity following golfers over 18 holes (something
we did several times).
In fact, we walked more on that golf course than our longest day in
Disney World … without the itzakadoozie.
THIS is the point where you should be saying, “Poor Bia! What a good sport she is!” And you would be correct. Many, many times over.
Later that evening, once I showered and managed to lower my body temperature back into a normal range, I declared the following:
one golf tournament on Hilton Head = five art museums (at least)
After all, an art museum is air conditioned, there are benches, and you don't get sunburned.
So there. We are even.
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