The Only Reason to be Glad You're Not My Brother

Last weekend was the annual family vacation to St. George, Utah, a tradition dating to well before I was born, when my parents bought a week in a condo unit. Every moment of our time in that condo is steeped in tradition, including the 8 a.m. golf call.

“[Glo’s real name]!” Big Sis calls. “Are you golfing this morning?”

“Grr. Raaahrrrrr. Harumph.” I mumble as I dive my head beneath the pillows. (Translation: Hell no. Now shut the door and go enjoy your golf game.) I never go golfing if it commences before 10 a.m. My job is to entertain my mother and any children at the pool. It’s tradition.

The only downside is that I miss the golf adventures, such as the one I am about to tell. Please keep in mind that my head was buried under a mound of linens. I cannot speak for the truth of these events.

My brother, Prince Charming, and his amazingly perfect fiancée, Beauty Queen, answered the golf call. BQ sprang out of bed, surrounded by the bluebirds that help to dress her and to fluff her locks as she flits about the day. This girl is amazing. I tell you seriously that there is music in the air as she walks through a room. It is impossible not to fall in love with her. Prince Charming is equally incredible. People weep with the romantic beauty of their union. I weep that I must attend the festival and stand in any photo including both of them, but, alas, such is the life of an ugly (not-step) sister.

Yet I digress. The golf game took place on a familiar course, where PC laments, “Idiot people built their houses in direct line of the hole! Did they really think they wouldn’t lose a window or two?” He is well-known for helping these foolish occupants to realize the error of their ways.

This day, however, with the love of his life hanging about his arm, my brother had an amazing day on the course. He parred on 4 straight holes. By the time they hit the 5th, a straight-away with the smallest of water hazards, he was doling out golf advice like the suddenly-pro golfer he was. With dramatic flourish, he placed a tee.

“Good luck, honey!” BQ whispered, just as he entered the backswing. He hit the ball with all the fervor of his devotion to BQ, but with the aim of extreme sexual excitement.

The ball veered wide, heading straight towards a nearby home. In my brother’s own words, “Who the hell gardens at 9:30 a.m.?” Per my father, the woman’s screams were audible at the hospital some 5 miles away*. An ambulance immediately dispatched to their location.

Dad is rather accustomed to his children’s screwball moments. In his typical calm and through the stunned silence common amongst groups who may have accidentally maimed old people, he suggested PC play on before the authorities started to ask questions. PC hurried to do as told….and dropped 2 balls straight into the water hazard.

By this point, there was no stopping Big Sis. She was laughing so hard that the group had to abandon the hole entirely in order to escape notice. Three holes later, PC admitted defeat and laughed a little himself.

And thus was born yet another Family Classic: The day PC almost killed an old lady because BQ whispered in his ear. He’ll never live it down.


*I was later informed there was no old lady. PC hit the house, as usual, and may have scared the occupants half to death, but no actual harm came to elderly people in the creation of this story. I am afraid that PC’s ego, however, did not fare nearly so well.