Competition. Oh yes, we are a tad bit competitive in my house. I got tot he car faster. I have more milk that you. I have a thicker moustache (I always win this one I KID I KID). Anyhoo, competition is the freckle-faced red-headed stepchild of our family. Not that I have anything against freckles or red-heads or step children. I love and embrace all.
But I did not realize with what force this little competitive step-child has taken my family. Until this weekend...
We went to the driving range and straight off the bat (name that quote) Middle Twerp said Wanna see who can hit it the fastest?
With that it was on like Donkey Kong. Now I am not one to be into the details. Cause that is where the devil lives. And well, I love and embrace all -- but Lucifer. He is my exception. So I am gonna help you all out here -- Insert Exhibit A: Please notice that this is taken AFTER the swing. Please notice where the ball is.
Okay, carry on.
So MT turns around and says How you like them apples. Beat that!
Uhm, exsqueeze me -- your ball is STILL ON THE TEE. This seemed to not be a problem.
Next up was BT -- I could just eat him up -- give me a spoon!
Again -- details schmetails but please notice the ball. It was determined by MT that BT's ball was much faster. So somehow -- BT took the lead. I obviously was clueless.
Moving along -- Eldest Twerp was the next item up for bid.
Uhm, I ain't one to judge but she DID hit the ball -- and it rolled off the concrete and onto the fairway. She hit it the farthest of them all.
At this moment I realized (being the competitive mother that I am) one of two things: either I know NOTHING about golf (which is true) or I might have a chance of being the next Tiger Woods. I am sticking with the latter. Amen.