JG and I finished up our trip to
In our hotel’s “Welcome to
After a cute lunch and some outlet shopping, JG and I set out for a round of mini-golf. We followed our usual routine:
- I accept the fact that I will lose and choose a golf ball that matches what I’m wearing that day.
- JG makes sure I have a putter that’s small enough for me; in this case, it was a child’s large size.
- I remember that I have no sense of aim or speed.
- JG, ever the teacher, tries to give me a few tips to “make it a lot easier.”
- I cheerfully refuse the tips because the frustration of trying to improve my nonexistent game will take away from my enjoyment of how many times I can chase the ball past the hole.
- JG putts cleanly, with maybe one occasion of 3 shots or more.
- I celebrate anything at par, but spend my time mostly craning my body to will the ball to curve left or right, because, you know, that totally helps.
- JG wins by a landslide and all is right with the world.
This time, the mini-golf routine was upset by a few rounds of turtle-watching because our mini-golf course doubled as a turtle rescue center. Seriously. They had signs all over the place about their mission, how the turtles gave joy to their patrons, and NOT to feed them, because so many guests smuggle in turtle food, I guess. Additionally, the waterfalls and little ponds in the course were all dyed a bizarrely unnatural shade of turquoise. Isn’t that kind of bad for living things?
At the end of the day, JG and I agreed that even though we couldn’t have predicted what we experienced, it was fun to get a glimpse into the strangeness in