52 dates // 33
The date // A trip to the driving range.
I always love those stories where they ask successful people about their summer jobs. The answers are all over the place — giant chickens, corn shuckers, roller-skating sperm.
Once upon a time, in a land far from here, I spent my summers as a caddy. Trudging along in the warm summer sun, carrying bags as big as myself, watching Happy Gilmore at least a thousand times while I waited around in the caddyshack (also Caddyshack).
It was a really well-paying job for a high school kid, and how can you complain when your work involves spending the whole summer outside?
The only problem is that after just a few summers spent caddying, I will be forever cursed with a completely terrible, awful, inability to play love of golf. Luckily, Mark is also terrible loves it too, so we try to get out and golf as much as we can to try to improve our awful game because we love it so much.
So this weekend we pulled out our dusty clubs, dusted off our creaky, lazy shoulders, and even managed to hit one or two balls where we meant to.
Do you play? And did you have a summer job as a kid? I’d love to hear all about it!
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