As I was leaving total body fitness class a few days ago, I was greeted with the above pictured troop of frozen golf carts.
(Or “gowf carts,” as those who play this spectacularly dull sport usually say it – especially the TV commentators. Mike used to watch “gowf” on TV – which, for me, is somewhere between watching paint dry and sticking knitting needles in my eyes. Suffice it to say, I was always able to find myself something else to do until the “gowf” was over, which often was somewhere between six and ten hours in).
So the sight of frozen “gowf” carts?
Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, HA!
Preferring brisk walks not involving attempts “to place a small ball in a smaller hole with weapons ill-designed for that purpose,” (Churchill),
Your loyal, non-conforming because non-gowfer, but hoping the fitness class can get me skiing again someday,