3 Balls

Every morning I swap the contents of my pockets from yesterday's pair of pants to today's. A wallet, keys, coins, cash and receipts are all normal items that get the switcheroo. This past Saturday morning while my in-laws were in town visiting, I also found 3 golf balls.

Although rare, there have been times when I drink beyond excess and have to look for stories or signs to reconstruct the latter part of the previous evening. For an embarrassingly long period during college, I liked to enjoy microwavable corn nibblets in my stupor before retiring. The memory would never return but their incomplete digestion always made me shake my head in disgust as I realized I did it again.

Friday night was planned as a refreshing outting to the driving range with friends and family. With a difficult week behind me I started the process of relaxation through malt. Late nibbles at an adjoining bar somehow gave way to two 1-gallon to-go bottles of beer and the requisite plastic road cups. Golf clubs and 150 balls were rented and our party made way to the third floor. The club swinging started and my memory retreated.

I woke with a sore left arm and my stomach felt punched, not to mention my head. As coffee was administered, I learned that not only did we take a cab home the night before, but that I sat in the front seat and directed our cabbie through the complicated backstreets of Queens and ultimately home. I also learned (2 days later) that I even paid for the taxi. Oh and to make matters worse, when my wife was preparing water to combat dehydration, I demanded more beer from the gallon jug that somehow I transported home.

After a shower and some Advil, that's when I found the golf balls and my memory improved to foggy from opaque. A little embarrassed and tired, I showed the house the trophy I uncovered.