She does like to drive the ball hard on a real driving range on occasion, releasing some pent-up frustration from the week and has been known to play 18 holes on a regular course, and is known as a good putter, that is, if she can get on the green, but her busy life does not allow her to spend four hours smacking the ball around some nice green closely mowed grass onto a mound with a hole in the middle with a flag, surrounded by treacherous beach sand surrounding the green with nasty intimidation while people watch, keep score and say, “good try,next hole don’t lift your head up.”She looks at him, says, “thanks for the advice, but was your head down when you shot your last two balls into the woods, Frank?”

She would rather spend four hours on the beach swimming or getting a tan on the sand with her tiny bikini, not knocking the ball out of a sand trap and spraying sand all over the green, sometimes eating it.

But she is damn good at miniature golf, also known as Putt- Putt golf.  In fact, for some reason, she is hard to beat, even though she doesn’t practice, it seems natural for her to hit balls at various angles and jump them up into a clown’s mouth or an alligator mouth with lots of teeth, coming out his butt on the other end and expelled into another treacherous obstacle course into the hole, often times in one shot, maybe two at the most. She often posts the lowest score at the little clubhouse where they serve the cold beer and receives some kind of a prize, like a golf ball that says, hit’em in the hole at Harry’s Putt-Putt adventure.

But it only takes and hour, and it is low pressure and no one cares if you keep your head down or whether your short skirt blowing in the wind is distracting the other golfers trying to tee off.  She has been known to go to Mini golf with men on dates, after dinner, but most of the time, she goes with one of her girlfriends so she can talk girl talk and not worry that she is going to beat her date’s score and drop his fragile confidence.  Sometimes her employees call her with problems, and she tries to answer when she can, because, that’s what business women must do.

The problem is though, she and her friend often disrupt the putt-putt activities of the other golfers, just because, well, they laugh and giggle with a bouncy jiggle and they sway their feminine hips back and forth, preparing for the perfect putt while their skirts blow back and forth, exposing God’s feminine creation for ambulation.  Men out with their wives and kids have to be careful looking at them, or listening to the giggles while they jiggle, but they can’t help it, and then, you know what happens next. “Did you get a good look John?”  Sometimes she’ll laugh and hit the ball too hard and knock the ball out of the enclosure and she walks over and some handsome guy picks it up and hands it to her happily, and says, “I never knew picking up balls could be so inspiring!”   Then, he deftly writes his name and number on the ball and hands it back to her, as if he’s done this before.  She smiles at him and says, “thanks for finding mywild ball!  Hope I can be more careful next time.”   He says, “Sorry, but I would prefer you continue to be careless for the remainder of the course, so I can save some more of your foul balls and get to know you better.”

She goes back to her friend a little red-faced and resumes play with the ball with the phone number, and it seems everyone in the Putt-Putt Park, especially glaring wives and girlfriends are staring at the the two ladies having fun. But they don’t care.  They are who they are and proud of it, and why should they hide it?  Her friend says, “that was a long talk over there with that hunk.”

“Yeah, he put his number on the ball.  I guess he expects me to steal it since it belongs to the golf park, unless he’s going to give a ball back to the owner.  Anyway, I do like that he was original and didn’t say the usual, “You’re beautiful, I need your number.  Instead, he said I inspired him and he hopes I lose another ball so he can pick it up again.”

“Clever guy.  I must admit,” said her friend.

They finished their game and went to the club house to get some refreshments and that guy came up to her and said to the owner, “I lost one of your balls, I want to pay you back for the lost ball.”

The owner said, “No worries sir, just buy some beer for the nice ladies standing next to you, maybe add some soft pretzels, and I think we’ll all be happy.”

He looked at her, winked, she looked at her friend and said “Why not?”

So, the three of them drank beer and ate pretzels at the picnic table and discussed the finer points of Pee wee golf, and who knows what happened after that.

© 2026 SRCarson Publications.