I offer this tangent. I’m an avid golfer. My regular group consists of four married men ranging in age from 58 to 72. We share a great love of the game and womankind.
Nine years ago, Tom and I decided to establish a regular match to enliven our twice-weekly four-hour rounds at Rancho Park on the west side of LA. This coincided with the National Hockey League strike, so Tom suggested we vie for the Stanley Cup. Over time the winner was referred to as Stanley and, for reasons I can no longer recall, the loser answered to Sally. Unhappy with the mildly misogynistic tone this struck, we had the names switch sides so the winner became Sally and was said to be “wearing the dress”.
A year or so later, we decided to play for “the thong”. We were soon speaking of the thong just as we did the dress. Depending on the outcome of my matches, my “wardrobe” could vary dramatically.
Jim started to feel a little left out and definitely under dressed. I forget in what order the rest of this took place, but now, every day we play the following matches are vigorously waged:
Brock v. Tom – The Dress
Brock v. Richard – The Thong
Brock v. Jim – The Panties
Tom v. Richard – The Bustier
Tom v. Jim – The Poodle Skirt
Richard v. Jim – The Burka
This past April, we traveled to Tucson to play the first annual Ensemble and Richard, it hurts me to say, went home with all the garments.
I’ll say in closing, that no actual garments were hurt, or even employed, in these contests. But if they were, we’d buy them from Hanky Panky!
From Die Happy, by Brock Walsh. Appearing in bookstores (if there are any left) soon.
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