We live in the suburbs where I mindlessly go about my day doing the things that women all over the world are doing. There’s nothing special about going to the grocery store, hitting Target, or standing in line at the post office, but it’s my life and I enjoy it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself in my daily meditations.
My husband’s existence is quite different, however.
Every day he drives down into L.A. to work. He exits on Sunset Blvd. which takes him past Bel-Air and Beverly Hills to get to work. Most days, the weather is a constant 70 degrees and he is but a short drive to the beach.
Yeah, his life doesn’t suck.
Usually he is on campus during the day unless he has to be at the golf course with his players or traveling to a tournament somewhere fabulous. The university does not have its own course (as some do) so instead they have to play at area courses like Bel-Air and L.A. Country Club. Yeah, I don’t feel sorry for him either.
So yesterday he had to stay at work a little late because he had to meet someone at Bel-Air: Rocco Mediate. Now, if you aren’t a golfer or aren’t married to a golfer (having spent many a Sunday afternoon watching the PGA Tour on television) then that name might not mean anything to you. In a nutshell, he is a very, very good player. A few months ago he was in a sudden-death playoff with Tiger at the U.S. Open (the tournament that Tiger played with basically a broken knee.) Unfortunately for Rocco, Tiger won, but Rocco earned a lot of fans by giving the best player in the world a serious run for his money.
Anyway, my Golfer had (emphasis on the word had) to go meet Rocco yesterday. This is pretty cool when you’re a golfer. So there they were, chatting it up on the putting green, when up walks Dr. Phil. Dr. “This ain’t my first rodeo” Phil was there to play a little golf. No biggie. Just another boring day on the golf course. They visited about Phil’s golf game, how he could use some lessons from the Golfer–you know, just the usual golf course banter.
Uh, huh. And to think, the highlight of my day was only paying $1.82 for gas.
These aren’t the first brushes with Hollywood that the Golfer’s had. He’s had drinks with Chris O’Donnell, held Dennis Quiad’s cell phone for him, Pete Sampras wants to play golf with him sometime, and during dinner he sat near–close enough to touch–Robert Redford!
Ladies, now, I think you’ll agree with me. This just isn’t fair. My husband doesn’t even get how good looking–and in Mr. Redford’s case incredibly handsome–these men are. And where am I when my husband is meeting all of these good looking men?
I’m right here blogging about it to you guys. There’s something pitiful about that.
Looks like I finally need to pick up the game. I’ll just tell my husband that I want to learn to play to be able to spend more time with him.
Think he’ll buy it?
Maybe I should ask Dr. Phil.